


Born To Run

by paperxcrowns



Category: Nightwing (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), Red Robin (Comics), Robin: Son of Batman (Comics)
Genre: (Obviously), Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arabic Damian Wayne, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Flashbacks, Fluff and Angst, Found Family, Hurt/Comfort, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I promise, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Latino Jason Todd, Multi, Past Rape/Non-con, Rape, Romani Dick Grayson, Some pining, The Batfam Needs A Hug, Tim has depression :(, Whump, YeetDC2020, accidental family acquisition, also this is lowkey not really kinda an aftg au, and there's talk about flashbacks to it...., but like, canon-typical blood, enemies to siblings slow burn, generous helpings of childhood trauma, he loves all his kids, he really tries at first, i feel like all fics i write are just the same thing but with different characters, im back on my bullshit, it's just referenced/talked about, just barely tho, like literally just the idea, mentions of depression, mentions of rape/non-con, no beta we die like jason todd, sorry - Freeform, the found family trope is strong in this one, they all have PTSD
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:00:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 61,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27499060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperxcrowns/pseuds/paperxcrowns
Summary: Talia had wanted Damian to be the perfect Al Ghul heir, but when her father shares his plans for Damian, she cannot let this be his life. So, in the dead of night, she takes him and they run, chased by the League, Ra's, and every single one of his allies. Talia and Damian run for years until Ra's catches up to them and Talia sees no choice but to leave Damian with Bruce to keep him safe. Now Damian is stuck with Bruce and way too many siblings who seem more divided than united on the best days. But something changes when Damian appears, and it seems that this new problem and this new murder-savvy child might end up bringing them all closer together.
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne, Dick Grayson/Wally West, Jason Todd & Damian Wayne, Jonathan Kent/Damian Wayne, Past Talia al Ghul/Bruce Wayne - Relationship, Roy Harper/Koriand'r/Jason Todd, Selina Kyle/Bruce Wayne, Talia al Ghul & Damian Wayne, Tim Drake & Damian Wayne, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne & Damian Wayne, Tim Drake/Kon-El | Conner Kent
Comments: 75
Kudos: 424





	1. Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i just-- i had the idea. i really had the idea. and like,,,,i really liked the idea. so here it is.

Damian was five when he first killed someone. He’d been sparring with a man twice his age at the very least and once Damian had him pinned to the ground his mother had stepped forward from where she’d been standing next to her father, her lips thin and her face pinched and told him to kill the man. Damian had refused, the man beneath beginning to struggle weakly, begging Damian, Talia, even Ra’s for mercy. Talia’s face hardened, and she handed Damian a gun and told him to kill the man.

Damian had hesitated a moment too long, the gun trained at the man’s head, the man weeping and begging, Damian’s arm shaking. Ra’s had pulled out a knife and thrown it, the knife sinking in Damian’s thigh to the hilt. Damian flinched, and Ra’s ordered him to shoot the man. Damian had pulled the trigger, and the man’s blubbering pleas were silenced, a pool of blood growing around his head like a halo.

Talia had to guide him out, his limbs stiff and shaking, and he was definitely breathing hard. He was too familiar with the symptoms of shock to not know what was happening to him. His mind still worked perfectly fine. He took the whole trip across the headquarters to his room to try to calm himself to an acceptable level. He was an assassin. More than that, he was an Al Ghul. He was the heir, and he had to act like it.

Talia was not the comforting kind of mother, and she was not the hugging kind of mother. She wasn’t as severe as Ra’s, but she expected her son to act like an Al Ghul, and like a Wayne, his lineage too important for Damian to botch it up. She was more the mother who pushed her son to be perfect, to excel in everything he did.

She was the mother who pursed her lips and her eyebrows pinched in worry, but never comforted Damian afterwards. She expected him to be okay, maybe for both their sakes, maybe because she did not know how to comfort others, or maybe because she simply expected him to never need help.

She did reward him when he completed a training exercise with excellent marks or bested his fencing teacher in a duel. She would give him a book, sometimes one she’d read herself, or one she thought would be beneficial to his education. Gifts were meant to have a purpose, to be a reward with meaning, not some useless trinket with minimal values western society so adored.

Everything went relatively well until a few short days before Damian’s eighth birthday. Ra’s had summoned Talia into his office. That in itself was a rare occurrence, but usually never one that Talia should dread. She marched down the hall, her leather boots soundless against the floor, assassins walking past her silently. She stopped in front of the intricately carved double doors. When she was young, she’d traced the shapes carved into the dark wood, now she observed them, the carvings depicting figures screaming in anguish as they were consumed by flames of gold leaf and rubies. Sitting in the middle was a throne made of skulls and bones and on it sat Ra’s and his children standing around his macabre throne. It looked like a scene from a mythology, or a very odd family portrait. Talia pushed the doors open and slipped in soundlessly, forcing herself to forget the tormented carvings.

The room was huge, the floor, walls and ceiling made of white marble, red marble columns leading to a wide desk in the far back of the room, with floor-to-ceiling windows opening up to a breathtaking sight of the canyon and the desert beyond. Ra’s was standing in front of his desk, observing Talia with an indecipherable expression.

“You wished to speak to me,” Talia said in lieu of a greeting, halting a few feet from the desk.

“I did,” Ra’s replied. “It is about the boy.”

This caught Talia slightly off-guard. “His marks have been perfect,” she told Ra’s. Damian was perfecting everything thrown at him, at Talia’s pushing and prodding. “His teachers are impressed with his results. He will bring honor to the Al Ghul name.”

Ra’s hummed, steepling his fingers together and resting his chin on them. “And the Wayne one, I would assume.”

Talia’s lips thinned. “He is an Al Ghul and a Wayne. He will not fail you, Father.”

Ra’s smiled, his eyes dark and flashing. “I do plan on that.”

Talia clasped her hands behind her back. “What do you mean, Father?”

Ra’s stood up, his cloak sweeping the floor, his eyes level with Talia’s. There was a sort of predatory joy glinting in his eyes that made Talia’s fingers twitch-- the only betrayal of emotion.

“With a rigorous enough training regime, he could be the greatest assassin ever trained here,” Ra’s said. “He was meant to be as powerful as Alexander the Great himself. He will lead the League. We have been going too soft on the child.”

Talia bit the inside of her cheek. “What do you propose then?” she asked, keeping her tone neutral with ease. “We are training with the best we have.”

Ra’s shook his head. “They go easy on the boy because of his age. I will recall my own students back to train him instead, they will not be as lenient.”

Talia did not know what to say. Really, there was nothing to say. Ra’s turned his back to her, his gaze lingering on the desert, the dry earth, the hot wind stirring up dust, the sky a sunburnt blue that had burned away the clouds long ago.

“The best way to build the perfect soldier is to break them down to nothing and build them back up again,” Ra’s said, and the room fell silent. This was not like the silence before, this was a dead silence, a silence that could spark an explosion.

“He is eight years old, Father,” Talia snapped, both incredulous and furious at the mere suggestion of what Ra’s wanted to do. “He is my son. He is the heir to the Al Ghul throne, but he is not your toy or your weapon. He--” Ra’s turned round at blinding speed, a knife slicing through the air. Talia leaned away instinctively and heard the blade thunk into the wooden door behind her. Ra’s face was white with fury.

“He is weak, and I will not tolerate any sort of weakness. His emotions will hinder him, betray him, the way they betrayed you with the Batman,” Ra’s snarled. “You are my daughter and he is my heir. You will do well to remember your place here. This decision is not yours to make. You may inform the boy that starting tomorrow, his training regimen will be much more strict.”

Talia felt her whole body shake with fury and fear. She was terrified of her father-- every assassin in the League was. He was being lenient with her this time, but the warning was clear: if she questioned him again there would be severe consequences. This was not a fight Talia would win, and they both knew it.

“Yes, Father,” she ground out in a clipped voice, knowing exactly what stepping out of line meant.

She turned to leave. As she reached for the handle, her eyes fixed on the intricately carved knife handle sticking out of the door, stabbing through the chest of a carved person, eyes and mouth wide and screaming in silent agony. The knife would have hit her right between the eyes.

“Talia,” Ra’s said as she twisted the handle. “Never question me ever again. Make sure Damian is equally warned of the consequences. I will not go easy on him because he is my blood.”

Talia did not acknowledge, simply left the room and walked briskly to Damian’s room, thoughts swirling, fury and fear and dread mixing horrendously within her, making her chest feel both warm and cold.

 _I will not go easy on him because he is my blood,_ Ra’s had said.

 _And that was all the problem,_ Talia thought.

Dread settled like a stone in her stomach as she made turn after turn down familiar halls she would never see again. She and Damian were leaving tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [feel free to peruse my tumbr](https://blas-ph-emy.tumblr.com/)


	2. Running Out Of Time

Damian woke up. He was a light sleeper-- a necessity when you spent the better part of six years running away from your assassin grandfather and his allies who sought to kill you. This time, Damian was not awoken by a sound, at least he didn't think. He'd been awoken by a presence just beyond the door. He glanced around the dark room, his eyes adjusting the darkness quickly. No one was in the room, and there were no bright lights filtering through the heavy curtains except the orange streetlight. He strained his ears and heard it-- the creaking of the floorboards on the stairs. It was barely audible and he definitely wouldn't have heard it if his ears weren't attuned to hearing the smallest tell-tale signs that someone was in the house. He briefly wondered if it was Ra's or just an assassin he'd sent. Probably an assassin; Ra's wouldn't have made a sound, even as minimal as making a floorboard creak.

As quietly as he could, Damian lifted the covers and slipped out of bed and knelt on the floor next to his bedside table. Talia and Damian only stopped at safe houses riddled with secret passages, or more than one way out of a room after a particularly nasty incident in Croatia three years ago where Damian had nearly been kidnapped and taken back to Ra's. 

Damian busied himself with prying off one of the wooden panels lining each wall of his room, one of the entrances to the passages built into the walls of the house, probably by a paranoid old man. Either way, Damian was thankful for that paranoid old man as he slipped inside and replaced the panel carefully. He had to find his mother immediately. 

he crawled a bit down a narrow passageway, the top, bottom and walls were made of old wood and smelled like rotting wood and mildew and there were cobwebs and dust that caught in Damian's hair and pajamas. The passageway progressively widened into a space big enough for Damian to finally stand up and walk. He'd gotten acquainted with the passageways his first day here, while Talia had gone out to scout out the town to see if they'd been followed. In the end, they'd stayed in this house for near two months now, and both him and Talia were getting jittery-- they'd never managed to stay in one place longer than at least three months, and Talia had been preparing to leave soon. At least, Damian thought, their bags were packed this time and he wouldn't have to buy new clothes. Again.

His mother preferred sleeping close to Damian's room, so the walk to her room was short, and soon Damian was crawling through a fake vent hidden in the closet in his mother's room. 

"Mother," he whispered, opening the door softly.

"Quiet," came the reply. "They just passed by. We will leave immediately."

"The car?" Damian asked, walking soundlessly to her bed and accepting the bag she was handing him.

Talia shook her head. Damian pressed his lips together, feeling a twinge of annoyance at the assassins roaming their safe house for making them walk through the English country at half past four in the morning. He already could tell this would not be a fun day.

He followed Talia through the passageway once more, and the two crawled and walked their way down to the first floor and into the kitchen. Talia peered through the window above the cracked porcelain sink, and once deemed it safe and free of assassins, opened the backdoor and the two slipped away into the night.

They had been walking for close to half an hour now, and the horizon was tinged a pale gray and the stars were already blinking out one by one. Damian's feet ached from walking barefoot in the freezing, dewy grass, but he knew stopping now was a bad idea. The assassins had to know they were gone by now, and they were out in the open, practically sitting ducks. They had to reach the nearest town, Greenfield, before the sun was up. There, they'd stop at an inn and rent a room until Talia could find-- steal-- a car and call up her friends-- being a loose term, more like people who didn't work for the League and were loyal to no one, but who owed Talia favors-- to find them a private flight out of the country. 

The sun was just rising when they reached the small town, with morning birds chirping brightly as the world slowly woke up. Damian took the time to put on a jacket and his tennis shoes before they entered a restaurant and ordered breakfast. Talia chose the booth farthest from the door and Damian slipped into the bathroom right after ordering to change into clean clothes. 

When he came back, Talia was on the phone with one of her contacts and their food and drinks were sitting in front of her. Damian sat down and began eating, half listening to what his mother was saying. Something about a plane and a private runway strip a few miles away and a flight to Indonesia. Damian risked a glance out the window, drawing the lace curtains back enough to see outside and froze when he saw a face he hadn't seen in years. He still had the jagged scar running along his abdomen from his last encounter with Ra's Al Ghul.

"Mother," he said, hating the twinge of panic he heard in his voice.

She looked at him and he nodded to the window, not trusting himself to speak at all. Ra's was right, his assassins were not afraid of death, they were afraid of him. Talia's face blanched.

"Call me back when everything is set up," she said in a clear voice that betrayed none of the emotions apparent on her face. "We will be there in an hour."

Damian glanced at his mother incredulously, unsure if she was being serious or just needed to give her contact a time to meet. Ra's being here would make a face-off with the League most impossible to avoid. Damian had been right-- today was going to suck royally.

"What do we do?" he asked Talia, letting his trembling hands fall under the table to hide the shaking.

"Ra's wants an audience," Talia said, her eyebrows knitting together. "And we won't be leaving without a fight."

Ra's was as efficient as he was ruthless, and he would never walk about in broad daylight if he did not want to be seen. Damian would not classify this as a trap, not to him and Talia at least, this was him telling Talia he wanted to talk to her.

"Are we--"

"Yes."

Talia called a waitress over and asked for the check, with Damian watching quietly.

"He won't let us leave," he told her once the waitress had gone.

Talia glanced at her phone, then out the window. "No, he will not. You'll have to be ready to fight your way out and run. I need you to follow me and never lose sight of me. A car will be waiting for us to take us to a private airstrip just outside Greenfield."

The waitress came back and Talia paid and the two made their way outside, their bags slung over their shoulders, ready for a fight. Talia and Damian made their way directly towards Ra's, who had stopped in his tracks and was observing them with narrowed eyes.

"We are here, Father," Talia said, planting her feet in a fighting stance. "What do you want?"

Upon closer look, Damian could see his slightly disheveled look, his clothes creased, his face pulled taut, the red of exhaustion rimming his eyes. Something had happened, that was clear. 

"I want you and the boy to come back with me immediately," Ra's ordered. "This charade has gone on long enough, Talia. Do you know how you make me look like to our allies? I look like a fool, chasing my wayward daughter and her bastard son around the world, never able to catch her."

Talia snarled. "If he is my bastard son, what importance does he have to you? If he is the Wayne's illegitimate child?"

Ra's pinched face soured, like he'd just bit into a lemon. "I have been lenient so far, daughter, but do not think I will be so in the future. You can come back right now or we will have to bring you and the boy back by force."

Talia scowled. "You've been _lenient_? Tell me, Father, what has you so scared that you have to come to me begging for--"

Her sentence was cut off by Ra's arching his saber through the air, face darkened by pure fury. Talia jumped back, hissing as the blade cut a thin line on her throat. Ra's ran forward, and more assassins jumped from the eaves and charging at Talia and Damian. Neither Damian nor Talia carried sabers anymore, but Talia made sure they both carried concealable weapons on their persons. Damian pulled out a small knife and threw it at one of the assassins, only making sure the knife hit its mark before turning to the oncoming assassins. He quickly counted at least twelve, and Talia was caught up in a vicious duel with Ra's, a storm of silver daggers and sabers.

People were screaming, but Damian tuned them out and charged the assassins coming his way. He jumped and kicked one in the face, pulling his sabers out of their scabbards and plunging one in his chest. He whirled on the others and grinned viciously before engaging in battle.

His body fought and parried automatically, the steps and moves having been drilled into him at a young age. He broke bones, threw knives at assassins too far away, or trying to sneak up on Talia, still locked in battle with her father, her face twisted and speaking words only she and Ra's heard. The cut at her throat was thinly bleeding, and she had more cuts on herself.

Damian had looked away for a second, but it was enough for one of the remaining assassins to pick him up and toss him sideways. His gut lurched uncomfortably and Damian barely had time to hope he wouldn't throw up his breakfast when he hit the wall of a house and heard a crack that echoed in his ears. Pain radiated from his ribs and if he could breathe, he would have gasped in pain. He hit the ground, taking down three ceramic flowerpots that shattered upon impact, spilling dirt and carnations and ceramic shards everywhere and cutting through his shirt fabric.

The three remaining assassins converged, sabers raised, and Damian, thinking quickly and in a pained panic, grabbed shattered ceramic shards, ignoring how they sliced into his palms, and threw them at the first assassin, the shard lodging itself right between his eyes. Damian's leg swept out, hitting the second assassin's knee and he heard the bone break. He grabbed hold of the saber and plunged it deeply in the assassin's stomach before pulling it out and swinging it at the remaining assassin. He raised his own saber, the metal clanging together. Damian kicked him in the stomach and took the moment of surprise to run his saber through the man's heart.

He panted, one bloody hand snaking around his ribs as he looked over the carnage he'd wrecked over the town square. The fountain in the center still gurgled cheerfully and banners fluttered in the breeze, announcing a sort of festival. The square was now empty, and he was sure the local police would show up soon enough. 

"Damian!" Talia yelled.

Damian's head snapped to attention, and he took off running in the direction his mother's voice was coming from. He ran into a side street and heard the sound of metal whizzing through the air and ducked just in time to avoid getting decapitated by Ra's saber. Damian thrust his stolen saber into Ra's side without thinking and stepped back shakily as the man stumbled, hands clutching his side.

His face twisted in a cruel snarl. "You will pay for that, bastard child."

Damian paled and started backing away. He turned to run, which probably saved his life, just as Ra's plunged his sword directly through Damian's shoulder. He gasped in pain, falling back, the blood soaking his shirt at an alarming rate. His already bruised and battered body was on fire.

"Damian!" Talia screamed again, appearing in front of Damian's graying vision.

His mouth formed the word 'mother' but no sound came out. Or maybe he did make a sound; his ears were ringing like church bells., effectively muting the world around him. Something shifted and Damian's mouth opened, as if silently screaming in agony, as Talia removed the saber.

"We need to move," Talia told him, grabbing his hand and sprinting down the street.

Damian's aching head cleared and he turned to see the empty street and wondered if Ra's would follow them. His mother yanked him forward and his ribs shifted, his body screaming at him to stop running. Every single nerve in his body screamed in white-hot agony and his brain begged his body for the pain to stop. 

"We're almost there!" Talia called back, yanking Damian's arm again, wrenching him back to reality.

Damian barely registered stopping, his body and mind numb to everything except for his hands covered in drying blood and his blue shirt, now black with blood, sticking uncomfortably to his body. A car door opened and hands guided him inside. The moment he sat down, his body shut down and he sagged against his mother's shoulder.

"You'll be alright, Damian," a voice floated, like waves in an ocean, from somewhere above him. 

* * *

When Damian forced his eyes open, he was immediately blinded by brilliant lights. He brought his hand up to shield them and struggled upright. His body creaked and protested with every movement, especially his ribs and shoulder, but he barely felt them. He blinked the remaining blurriness out of his eyes and looked around. He was in a private plane, the one his mother had been talking about in her phone call probably, and he had been laid on a couch made of beige leather, like the plush seats scattered farther ahead, and clothes were folded on a short table made of polished golden wood bolted to the carpeted ground of the jet.

"Damian," a voice spoke.

Damian's head shot up and he saw his mother standing at the front of the jet, the pilot's door clicking shut behind her. The cut on her throat dried and scabbed, clean of any blood that had dribbled down earlier.

"Mother," Damian replied, concealing the relief in his voice. "Where is Ra's?"

Talia shook her head. "He vanished. Greenfield was swarming with police, though I do believe by now the League had to have cleaned up the mess."

Damian pulled his legs over the side of the couch, his bare feet resting against the coarse carpet, feeling the thrum of the engines vibrating under him. His clothes were torn bloody shreds, but at least they were dry. "Where are we going?"

He'd heard Talia say Indonesia on the phone. Damian refused to admit it out loud, but he was sick of running away all the time. He was an Al Ghul and the son of Bruce Wayne. He should not run. He should face Ra's and the League, and instead they'd been running away for six years. But their stunt in Greenfield unfortunately proved Damian was nowhere near being ready to face Ra's Al Ghul. 

"We are going to Gotham City," Talia informed him, picking up a set of folded clothes a few sizes larger than Damian's and a new pair of boots. "Ra's is getting desperate and your father can give us the protection we need. We will talk about this more once you changed. Your clothes are covered in blood."

Talia strode past him and opened one of the two bathroom doors-- both facing each other-- and shut the door, the lock turning. Damian threw the thin cover off his legs and picked up the clothes folded for him, his legs wobbling and his stance a little shaky. He scowled and stormed into the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind him and throwing his clothes in the corner in a fit of anger. He had let himself get knocked out. He was lucky his mother had been there to help him, but if she hadn't-- it was a careless mistake.

Damian's fist slammed into the small sink, an action he immediately regretted. His bandaged hands stung and he grunted, remembering how he'd cut them on the ceramic shards. He looked up at his haggard reflection, deep bruises under his eyes that matched the one on his temple, his face several shades paler. His reflection made him only more frustrated and angry. He yanked his brown hair back to check his roots and noted that his black hair was starting to show again. He was going to wash out the dye as soon as they landed. He calmed a little and met his eyes in the mirror, amber eyes staring back, haunted and foreign. He looked like a wild animal that had been cornered by a hunter. He hated his reflection. This was not Damian Al Ghul, this was an impostor parading as someone else. For six years the only time he could be Damian Al Ghul was when he and his mother were alone in a safe house. The rest of the time, his hair was dyed and he wore colored contacts to throw the League of their scent, even if it was only for a short time.

Wordlessly, Damian carefully took out his colored contacts and flicked them in the trash, lip curling in disgust, and looked back in the mirror. Emerald green eyes blinked back at him. His mother's eyes. He'd been putting in contacts long enough that he no longer needed the help of a mirror, and the last time he'd seen his natural eye color-- or even his reflection in the mirror for longer than a few minutes-- must have been weeks ago, before they'd arrived in England. This was the first time he was staring into eyes that were wholly his own. 

There was a knock at the door as he was peeling his shredded and bloody shirt off.

"The plane will land in an hour," his mother's voice spoke through the door, calm and collected as usual. "Finish cleaning up so we can talk about our next move."

He heard her footsteps receding and turned his attention the mirror, stepping back to catalogue the patchwork of bruises and cuts on his torso. There were deep cuts and white bandages covered his hands, arms and smaller bandages taped over cuts over his chest. There were bulky bandages that were already stained red on his shoulder where he got run through by a saber meant for his heart that would scar sublimely. His ribs were an ugly painting of deep purples and blacks and blues that twinged when he twisted his upper body any which way. 

Damian picked up the clothes and boots given to him and got dressed quickly, replacing his ruined pajamas with a gray shirt and dark jeans and studied his reflection. He could see himself the way others saw him-- he saw his pale face and haggard appearance, sunken cheeks and tired eyes. Under his shirt, he knew his ribs stuck out slightly, proof of the toll the constant travelling had on his body.

Damian sat on the toilet seat and laced up the boots and stepped out of the bathroom. Talia was sitting on the couch he'd been previously sleeping on, gazing at a glass of white wine in her hands, the bottle sitting on the coffee table. Her hair-- dyed a dark red, her chestnut roots once again showing-- was freshly brushed and braided neatly.

"Damian," she said, finally glancing up at her son, her tight features softening slightly. "We will be arriving shortly."

Damian felt himself nod as he took a seat on the other end of the couch and gazing into his mother's forest green eyes, a few shades darker than his.

"Has my father been notified of our arrival?" he asked, his tongue heavy and foreign and an unfamiliar fluttering in his chest. 

Talia shrugged. "He has been notified of mine. It would be in our best interest not to alarm him before we get the chance to talk to him."

The corner of her lip curled in amusement as she finished her drink and set the glass down.

Damian did not find amusement in her statement. He felt the worry gnaw at him and he shoved it away. What was _wrong_ with him today?

"I don't see what my father can do to protect us that we could not do ourselves," he said, deciding to keep his apprehension mostly to himself. 

"Your father is a billionaire. Everyone knows the name Bruce Wayne. Everyone knows his children. If he comes out with another child, this one a legitimate child, the League would have a harder time making you disappear. And as Batman, they both have the world's most powerful people a simple phone call away. He has everything I do not. Ra's is smart enough to know this."

Damian gazed away, unable to hold his mother's gaze. "Are we going to be running our whole lives? How long do we have until Batman's protection isn't good enough?" he spat out the question, sounding more bitter than he'd intended.

"Batman will keep you safe," Talia insisted. "I will take care of the League."

Damian's head shot up, panic seizing his heart almost painfully. "You're leaving me?" The dread rose like bile. 

Talia frowned, and Damian couldn't help feeling bitter about the premature wrinkles lining his mother's face. 

"My job has been to protect you from Ra's and the League of Assassins. Ra's never meant to train you to be an assassin, he wanted to train you to be a weapon he could manipulate against his enemies. He never cared about you or whether you lived or died."

"You're leaving me," Damian repeated, more incredulous. _Abandoning me_. Abandoning me with a stranger for a father. He would be _alone_ \--

His mother grabbed his wrist tightly enough it snapped him out of his spiral.

"Get a hold of yourself, Damian," she snapped, her face cold. "We don't have time for this. This is the best solution. Getting emotional will only get us both killed. While you stay with Bruce, I will lead the League away from you and attempt to destroy them myself. You would only slow me down. I cannot worry about protecting you during that time."

Damian's cheeks flushed at his own outburst, hearing the sense in his mother's words. "I apologize for my outburst, Mother."

Talia hummed in acknowledgement. "I should warn you, however. Your father's choice of children is...unconventional and impractical to say the least. And numerous. He...likes to take in strays."

Damian was not surprised. He knew of Dick Grayson and Jason Todd, and another one-- Timothy Drake. Everyone knew them. 

"Yes," he replied. "He adopted that circus child and that delinquent who tried to steal his tires. Wasn't Drake following them or--"

Talia shook her head, seemingly both amused and frustrated. "He acquired more."

Damian paused and blinked. "More," he repeated. "How many more?"

"Five, eight counting the three little robins."

Damian sighed. His day seemed to only progressively grow worse with each passing hour. Eight children. Soon to be nine, apparently. That man adopted children the way one would adopt cats.

"And what am I to do in Gotham?" he asked, voice flat. "I doubt leaving the manor is recommended when I am currently the League of Assassins's most wanted."

"Whatever you do does not matter as long as you never let Bruce or the manor out of your sight," Talia replied.

Damian didn't reply. He clasped his hands together and gazed down at the navy carpet, tracing the diamond pattern with his eyes. He swallowed back the lump in his throat. He would turn thirteen in less than a month. Would she make it? Would she live to see the day?

"Will you come back?" he asked quietly, not trusting his voice not to crack.

His mother paused, then shifted closer to him. Hesitantly, she reached and grasped his hands in hers tightly, reassuringly. "I do not know, Damian," she told him softly. 

Damian opened his mouth, but the plane lurched and Talia pulled away, rising to her feet. "We must be landing," she said. "Gather your things, Damian. A car will be waiting for us when we land."

With that, Talia strode towards the pilot's cabin and disappeared behind the door, leaving Damian speechless and completely alone with his thoughts. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm supposed to write a philosophy essay for school due by friday but no💖


	3. First Meeting Gone Wrong (And It's Everyone's Fault)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so i'm fucking a little with the timeline here, so in this Damian is 12, Tim and Steph are 19, Duke and Harper (she and Cullen make few appearances, but they're here) are 17-18, Dick is 24, Babs is 26, and Jason and Cass are 21. I kinda guesstimated some of their ages pls don't come at me i suck at math

Jason Todd was not having a good night. So far, he'd had breakfast at the manor because no one could stay away from Alfred's pancakes and ended up punching Dick in the face before storming out, then he'd ended up half an hour late to his class and had the unfortunate pleasure of running into none other than the Replacement, and on top of that he'd burned the chicken fried rice he'd been making before patrol. All in all, not a good night. And, since his day clearly hadn't been bad enough, he'd run into Dick and Duke on patrol when they all landed in the same alley, all drawn by the sound of gunfire. He'd started arguing with Dick, not an unusual occurrence, really. He didn't mind patrolling with Batman and his lackeys, but Crime Alley was his turf, and he had an agreement with Batman, no matter how precarious, and Dick was in clear violation of it. However, their argument had been cut short when one of the thugs came to and shot his gun, aiming for Jason and Duke had shoved him out of the way of a bullet that he caught in his side like the absolute idiot he was.

Which was how he'd ended up carrying Duke back to the manor, guilt and anger simmering below the surface and threatening to make him lose control and break a few expensive vases. He'd broken one in a fit of rage, but didn't want to make Alfred clean up broken porcelain all night. 

There was a very good reason why Jason didn't live in the manor anymore. He couldn't stand any of them. Well actually, Duke and Steph were the most tolerable, and even then it was only to a level. He drew the line when the both of them tried to get him to join their "family movie nights" knowing perfectly well how it would end. Yelling, insults being thrown all around, Bruce sitting in disappointment and not doing anything as per usual, and someone breaking the TV or a bone. 

This goddamn family. Jason wanted to wait until Alfred was done stitching up Duke's wound before heading back to his apartment. All he wanted was so sit on his ratty old couch with Kori and Roy and watch SNL on the TV until they passed out on the couch. He didn't want to be pacing in the living room and glancing at the door every few minutes and hoping he'd leave before anyone finds him. 

His frantic thoughts were interrupted by the doorbell ringing. Well fuck. Jason stopped pacing and stood still in the middle of the living room until it was clear no one was coming. Damn this manor for being so goddamn big. Jason stalked to the front door, taking the time to yank off his leather jacket and tugging a shirt over his red and black uniform. Then, after clicking the safety off the gun in his hand, opened the door. His heart hardened into a stone and dropped into his stomach when he saw none other than Talia Al Ghul standing there with a kid, no more than ten or eleven and looking way too similar to Bruce in those pictures Alfred had showed him. Jason blinked. No, the kid had dark brown hair and Talia's green eyes and brown skin, his several shades lighter than Talia's. He didn't look like Bruce. Jason was just tired.

Jason's eyes narrowed as his heart beat faster. His night was already shitty, why not add _this_ on top of everything? Why not top it off with a surprise visit from the bane of his existence? Actually, that spot was reserved for Bruce, but he was fine with making room for the woman who brought him to the Lazarus Pit. 

"The fuck _you_ want?" he asked brusquely.

"I want to talk to Bruce Wayne," Talia replied. "It's imperative we see him. He is expecting us."

Jason rolled his eyes. "He's out."

"We're not leaving until we see him. We can wait inside. We won't be a bother." Talia was almost imploring, which sent off alarm bells in Jason's head. This was more serious, and clearly was not League business.

Jason exhaled slowly, knowing he was going to regret this very soon. "I am not letting you inside." He'd died, he hadn't been turned into a complete idiot. "You'll have to wait outside. I'd apologize if I actually felt sorry about that. I'll send Bruce your way when he arrives."

Talia scowled. "We can't."

Jason was no impressed. "Sucks to be you, then."

He moved to close the door, but Talia caught it in a surprisingly strong hand. "This is Bruce Wayne's son," she growled, gesturing to the kid standing next to her. "Ra's has been hunting him for the past six years. I would not have come here if it was not serious."

Jason blinked, still processing the bomb Talia had just dropped on him. "His son?" he asked.

"I made Bruce believe it was a miscarriage. We cannot stay outside. Ra's must know we would come here eventually."

Jason was definitely regretting his decision. "Okay fine. You can come inside. Just don't-- don't do anything. I am not in the mood for any bullshit tonight."

Talia walked inside, followed by the kid-- Bruce Wayne's fucking son-- and Jason shut the door. 

"I'll contact Bruce. He's still...out. Do you want to drink something? A beer?"

Jason asked, acutely aware of the awkwardness hanging thickly in the air. What were you supposed to say to the person who brought you back to life and left you with an actual organization of assassins for years?

"No," Talia responded stiffly.

Jason shrugged and led them to the living room, pulling out his phone and calling Bruce. The phone rang right into voicemail and Jason bit back a string of insults the kid definitely shouldn't hear. But then again, he'd been raised by Ra's, so he was probably well acquainted to profanity. Jason tried calling again, then a third time. On the fourth call, he was rethinking his mental promise not to break any more vases. Finally. on the eighth ring, Bruce answered.

"What's wrong?" he asked in his Batman voice, so he was still on patrol. 

"Your ex is here," Jason said in a toneless voice. "She said you've been expecting her."

The other end of the line remained silent. "I'll be here in five minutes."

And the line went dead. Jason turned back to Talia and the kid, sitting on the couch furthest from the entryway and closest to the window.

"He'll be here in five minutes," Jason relayed, plopping down on an armchair facing the door. "In the meantime, I have to stay here and make sure you don't place a bomb in the house or something."

The three of them sat in silence, with Jason mainly trying to ignore them by playing Subway Surfers on his phone until Bruce, fresh out of his Batman suit and into a pressed blue suit, stepped into the room. The tension only seemed to rise, going from uncomfortable to dangerous. Jason wasn't sure if it was because of his presence or just because of Talia and he didn't care to know. He glanced back down at his phone, pretending he wasn't really listening, though he doubted any of them were paying attention to him.

He was sure as hell not missing out on _this_ conversation. It would mark it as this week's official weekly entertaining argument that was not started in any way by Jason. 

"Talia, what is going on?" Bruce finally asked.

"Bruce," Talia began, sounding unsure how to phrase her following statement. "I-- this is your son, Damian."

The kid-- Damian-- stood up. "Hello, Father." 

Bruce stared at the kid, then back at Talia. "Talia--"

Talia smirked, her uncertainty melting away easily. "Oh come on," she said, coming up close to him. "You remember that night, don't you? Of course, it took a little convincing, but in the end we had fun, didn't we?"

Jason looked up in surprise, completely giving up on pretending he was on his phone.

Bruce scowled. "You told me you had a miscarriage."

Talia pulled away and sighed as if she were dealing with a six year old she had to spell everything out to. "I lied, Bruce. It's nothing you aren't used to, I really don't see what the fuss is all about."

Bruce scoffed. "I've never been lied to about a miscarriage. Somehow, it never occurred to me I would be lied to about that."

Talia raised an eyebrow. "You can add it to your list of things you never thought you'd be lied to about, then."

Bruce pursed his lips. "Why are you here? Surely it's not for a happy reunion."

Talia sighed, casting her son a worried glance. Damian, for his part, had been watching the conversation silently.

"No," she told him. "I'm afraid it's much worse than that." Talia sat down again, and both Damian and Bruce took that as their cue to take their seats. "Six years ago, Ra's told me he wanted to train Damian to be his ruthless weapon, a killing machine with no morals. A weapon, most likely, to use against his powered enemies. And you." 

Bruce remained silent, and Jason's eyes flicked from Bruce to Talia, then Damian, glancing from the bruise at his temple to his hands wrapped in bandages.

"So we ran away from the League, and they've been chasing us for six years. And not long ago, you and Ra's had a certain...disagreement, and he is getting desperate. He has sent out his best assassins after us, and you're the only one who can protect Damian now."

Jason was frozen in shock, his earlier frustration and guilt the furthest thing on his mind after Talia's reveal. This was-- this was something he was way too tired to deal with at the moment. It was way too late and he had classes tomorrow. Jesus fuck. This goddamn family and all its goddamn problems.

Bruce nodded, face serious. "Okay. We can talk out the details in my office. Jason can help get Damian settled."

Talia shook her head. "I am afraid I must leave as soon as I possibly can."

A complicated look crossed Bruce's face and Talia turned to Damian and whispered something to him in what Jason believed to be Arabic before hugging him a little stiffly. The League wasn't big on physical affection, and it was almost painful to see Talia attempt a hug.

"Ra's has men everywhere. Damian's protection is priority. I cannot let him fall into my father's hands."

"When you say his best assassins," Jason spoke up. "Who are you talking about?"

"Slade Wilson, Lady Shiva, and many more. He chose the worst of the worst."

Jason let out a low whistle. "Nice."

Bruce shot him an exasperated glare and despite Talia's blank face, Jason was sure she was regretting bringing him back to life.

"We do not have time for this," Talia said through clenched teeth, and Jason could see how tense she was, ready to fight if she needed. "I need to leave. Bruce."

Talia stood back up and made her way out of the living room, Bruce following after, looking a little lost, which Jason found absolutely hilarious.

Once the two left, Jason was sitting alone with Damian. He turned his phone back on and went back to playing on his phone, swinging one leg over the arm of the armchair. He pointedly ignored Dick's texts, simply texting back 'stop bothering me'. Babs had texted him to ask how he was doing. 

"Do you have vinegar?" Damian asked.

Jason looked up from his phone, nonplussed. "Yes?"

Damian nodded and stood up, ready to walk out and leave Jason without even explaining why he would need vinegar. 

"Why'd you need vinegar?"

Damian paused and his eyebrows furrowed. "To wash out the hair dye, of course," he replied in a tone that told Jason he was wasting Damian's time.

"Hair dy-- how old even are you?"

"Almost thirteen," said Damian, who looked small enough to be two years younger. 

Jason sighed. "That explains the fucking attitude," he muttered. "Look, you really can't blame me for not trusting ex-League assassins, so if you don't mind, I'll take you to the kitchen."

Damian scowled. "I don't need a babysitter."

Jason hopped off the armchair. "And I'm not letting you kill anyone here because it's way too late for another incident to clean up," he retorted. "So suck it up."

The kitchen was just down the hall. Jason flicked the lights on and immediately made a beeline for the fridge, half sure there was leftover pizza from last night when Babs ordered some after patrol.

"Vinegar's in the pantry by the way," Jason said, reaching for the pizza box.

There were two pizza slices and he grinned.

"You want pizza?" he asked Damian when he stepped out of the pantry, a bottle of white vinegar in his hand.

Damian's nose scrunched up in distaste. "No."

Jason shrugged and shoved half the slice in his mouth as Damian's lip curled in disgust. 

"Todd!" a voice yelled and he almost choked on his pizza slice.

"Jesus Christ not tonight," he groaned. 

Dick Grayson stormed into the kitchen, his domino mask gone and the top half of his suit unzipped and replaced by a Rolling Stones shirt. None other than Timothy fucking Drake on his heel, looking more confused and a little dazed and completely changed out of his Red Robin costume. 

"I already told you I'm not finishing my argument with you, Dickie," Jason said placidly.

Dick scowled. "No," he said. "For once, we're going to talk this out like civil adults."

Jason raised an eyebrow. "My, my, Dick. It sure sounds like you're trying to tell me we have a miscommunication issue here."

"Jason, we need to talk! Why do you always have to make it so damn difficult--"

"Because I don't want to talk," Jason replied simply, punctuating his sentence by taking another bite.

Tim, probably knowing this was going to end with Jason and Dick pummeling each other, stepped between them.

"Okay, let's not instigate any fights," he attempted, both hands raised. "Duke is fine, by the way," he said, giving both of them pointed looks, "Jason, be civil. Dick, if we talk it out, it's best we don't do it directly after patrol."

the 'especially after you two started arguing and let Duke get shot and would probably shoot each other on sight if we tried to have a civil family discussion' went unsaid, but was definitely implied. Everything in this family was too damn complicated. 

"Bold words coming from _you_ , Timothy. Next time you choose to reprimand me about being civil, don't let us forget how you "civilly" blew up a warehouse with me and Cass still in it," Jason spat, taking grim satisfaction when Tim flinched almost imperceptibly.

"I'm just trying to stop you from breaking Dick's nose," Tim snapped. 

"By the way," Jason said, ignoring Tim and starting on the second pizza slice. "We have guests." He gestured his pizza in Damian's direction.

Both Tim and Dick turned, their expressions changing drastically in less than half a second when they spotted little Damian, looking entirely unimpressed.

"And you two just made a wonderful first impression on him," Jason added gleefully with a bright smile.

Dick's anger melted right off his face, turning into something more-- Jason couldn't really tell. Confused, surprised, maybe even pity? Tim looked suspicious and wary, but Jason wouldn't count on his opinion, sleep deprivation made anyone like that. And Jason didn't like him. There was that, too.

"Who are you?" Tim asked.

"The rightful Wayne heir," Damian asked and Jason snorted. That was one way to phrase it. "Bruce Wayne is my father."

Dick's eyes flickered to the bottle of vinegar in his hands, but he didn't comment on it. 

Tim scoffed. "Right. Okay. And I'm the son of Beyoncé."

Damian scowled.

"Honestly," Jason snapped. "He's right. His mother is Talia Al Ghul."

Tim barely spared Jason a glance. "Oh, thanks for clearing it up, Jason. Now I _definitely_ don't believe him."

Jason felt a spark of rage overtake him, but breathed, forcing it away. "You have something to say to me, Replacement?"

"That I don't trust you and prefer it when you're not here? Gladly. We don't need unstable psychopaths here."

This time, Jason saw green and grabbed a knife from the knife block and pounced on Tim, ready to stab some sense into him, only for Dick to catch him by the waist and haul him away. Jason writhed and screamed bloody murder.

"Cut it out!" Dick yelled. "God!" He ran a hand through his thick deep brown hair. "Can we try not to stab each other for five minutes?"

He forcibly tore the knife out of Jason's grip, still not loosening his hold on him, no matter how much Jason squirmed and snarled threats. Tim was glaring at him and Damian was still standing exactly where he was, the bottle of vinegar in one hand, looking deeply unimpressed. 

"My mother thinks I will be safe from Ra's and the League of Assassins," he said. "Now I see my chances of survival would drastically decrease with all of you."

"Well since we're all deeply unhappy with this arrangement, you can leave, you little bastard," Jason snarled, struggling against Dick's hold.

"You were sitting in the same room as me when Mother explained the situation. Are you hard of hearing or simply a complete buffoon?"

Tim let out a startled laugh, and didn't even look abashed when he caught himself. They could both go fuck themselves. Jason felt angrier, and really needed to get out of here. 

"Let me go Grayson, or I promise you will be walking out of this kitchen missing a limb and an eye."

Dick wasn't fazed by the threat, which only infuriated Jason more. His whole body burned with simmering rage.

"If I let you go will you promise not to kill anyone on your way out?" he asked.

Jason scowled at Tim's amused look. "I'm not six fucking years old," he snapped. "Unlike you, I can control myself."

All three of them stared at him incredulously and Jason felt downright murderous. "Why do I even bother coming back to this fucking place when I get treated like this?" he snapped.

"No one's asking you to come back," Tim snapped. "I'm going to shower."

With that, he spun around and stormed out, and Dick finally let Jason go. Without missing a beat, Jason punched him in the face and stormed out after Tim. He caught Damian asking Dick, "How did Father manage to keep all of you for years without killing at least one of you?" before he made it back through the living room, pausing only to grab his discarded jacket and helmet and storming through the foyer. He paused and too the time to pick up an elegantly painted Chinese vase and hurling it against the wall and slamming the front door hard behind him, cutting off Dick's "Jason!" and whatever was supposed to follow after.

Angrily, he walked down the endless driveway and sat down in the grass at the edge of the property and pulled out his phone. His hands were shaking with rage as he called Roy. 

"Hello! How many body bags do you need?" Came Roy's cheerful greeting.

"I want to kill my brothers," Jason replied, feeling the anger slowly evaporate, leaving behind exhaustion.

Roy hummed. "Understandable. Siblings can be assholes. Do you need me to pick you up?"

Jason exhaled. "Yes, _please_. I'm sitting in front of the manor. I cannot _wait_ for this day to be over."

Roy chuckled. "It technically did, an hour and twenty one minutes ago."

"Roy," Jason warned.

"Right. Sorry. I'll be there in ten minutes."

"You truly are the light of my life, Roy Harper. My _joie de vivre_. My _raison d'_ _être_."

Jason could practically hear Roy grin slyly. "Compliments. Wow. You must be more tired than I thought."

"You have no idea."

With that, Jason hung up and laid himself down on the grass, gazing at the orange sky and let his thoughts wander. That was dangerous, his thoughts very easily wandered where they shouldn't. He missed seeing stars in the sky. He would see them, in the desert back when he was with the League. He wondered if Talia had already left. Sometimes, Jason wished Talia had left him dead. The real world hurt too much, was too much too easily, and he came back to a broken family and made it worse. The only thing that seemed to be going relatively well for him at the moment was Kori and Roy. Roy told him all the time Jason helped put him back together, to which Jason argued Roy had done that himself, by himself. 

His thoughts were interrupted by bright headlights. He sat up a little too fast and ignored the dizziness as Roy leaned forward to pop the passenger door open.

"It's Britney, bitch." Roy grinned.

Jason climbed in and tossed his helmet in the backseat. "I hate you."

"I doubt that," Roy said, leaning for a quick kiss before pulling the car in reverse and driving away. Jason felt a weight being lifted gradually the farther from the manor they drove.

"I really do," Jason insisted. "I want to punch you in the face every time you open your mouth."

Roy wiggled his eyebrows at him. "Of course you do, babe," he said, adjusting the rearview mirror. "You want to punch me before or after you turn in your essay tomorrow?"

Jason shrugged. "I'll wait to see what grade I get."

"Then I guess I should prepare for a broken nose and a black eye," Roy replied dryly.

Jason punched his arm. "Fuck you, Roy, I worked hard on that essay!"

Roy just laughed and turned his blinker on and Jason finally let himself relax.

* * *

Tim knew that, come a few short hours, he would regret lurching forward in a panic because of a nightmare at four in the morning and deciding not to go back to sleep, given that class started at nine, but he was already halfway through a documentary he'd found on Netflix completely by accident. He simply couldn't _not_ finish it at this point. Not only was Morgan Freeman the star of the documentary, but it was also about religion and its role in society, and that was a fascinating topic in itself.

Tim had only paused the first episode to sneak downstairs and grab the entire cookie jar that Alfred had filled up with homemade sugar cookies the other day and a Monster drink and scuttled back upstairs to cocoon himself in blankets and continue his 4am Netflix binge. 

The door was slammed open and Tim jumped hard enough that the cookies rattled in the jar and one flew out of the jar and landed directly on the spacebar, pausing the episode for Tim.

"Jesus!" Tim exclaimed, yanking off his earbuds, resting a shaking hand over his heart. "Stop trying to kill me!"

Duke was standing at the door, eyes blown wide and pajamas rumpled. Tim had an idea what had rattled him like this, but prayed he was wrong.

"The kid," Duke finally said. "He's-- he is _insane_."

Tim sighed, hating having guessed right. "What did he do now?"

"Steph and I were watching a movie in my room when she heard a sound and went to check, and it turns out the kid was wandering the house and almost clawed Steph's eyes out. I--" Duke blinked around. "I mean, I freaked out, obviously, and I promise I didn't mean to hit him hard but I think I knocked him out? Steph's fine, but she's got lots of scratches and--"

Tim sighed, shutting his laptop. "Take me to them," he said.

Duke nodded, and Tim couldn't imagine how a vigilante with superpowers could be this shocked at getting surprise attacked in the middle of the night. Then again, Tim, a vigilante himself, almost had a heart attack when Duke burst into his room. 

The scene was just as Duke had described. Steph was cursing under her breath, a steady stream of profanities that Jason would be proud of, as she rubbed antiseptic on long scratch marks along her arms, about half of them with Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle Band-Aids slapped on. Damian, still in his gray shirt and jeans, lay unmoving on the floor a few feet away. 

"You okay, Steph?" Tim asked.

Duke, with a guilty look, approached Damian's form, albeit with caution as if the kid could still stab him while unconscious-- which Tim wouldn't put past him. He'd been a problem right up until Tim had retired to his room, and it'd only been two hours. 

Steph scowled. "Oh I'm fine," she replied hotly. "I just can't _wait_ to explain to people why I'm covered in scratches tomorrow. "Oh yeah, I'm fine, my adoptive father's feral son he found out he had last night just attacked me because he was raised by a league of psychopathic assassins."" Steph's hair was disheveled and had mostly escaped its binding, giving her the appearance of an angry scarecrow. 

Tim snorted. "You look like an angry scarecrow."

Steph's head snapped up and she looked five seconds away from splashing antiseptic in Tim's eyes. "Are you actively trying to convince me to move in with Jason? This is bullying and I will not stand for it."

Tim raised his hands in surrender. "My apologies."

"Guys, what do we do with him?" Duke asked, diverting both their attentions.

The two of them crawled over to them, and Tim didn't miss Steph yanking the hair tie out of her hair and snapping it around her wrist. 

"Take him back to his room?" Steph suggested. "You're carrying him, though."

Duke groaned. "But you're the strongest!"

Steph grimaced. "I am not touching that demon. One round was enough, thanks."

Duke looked resigned. "I'll take him, I guess."

"Make sure he's not bleeding," Tim told him, settling against the wall. "Bruce said him and Talia ran into Ra's and some assassins and he got pretty banged up."

"My pleasure," Duke replied drily and walked towards Damian's room with the pre-teen in his arms.

"You tired?" Tim asked Steph, his head lolling along the wall to look at her.

Steph was sitting with her back propped against the wall next to him, her coarse blond hair tumbling over her shoulders. Even once brushed, her hair looked ill-kempt and unbrushed, and Steph usually tied it up in a braid or ponytail.

"Nah," she said. "I was considering it when I was laying in bed next to my favorite human golden retriever, but that idea flew out the window when the sniveling brat attacked me."

Tim laughed. "I think Damian has to be the furthest thing from 'sniveling' as you can get."

"Bet," Steph said. "After tonight, I'm holding one hell of a grudge."

Tim thought about it. "Twenty by the end of the week."

Steph grinned wickedly, much the way Jason might have when he was about to blow a building sky-high. "You're giving me a _week_? Get ready to be twenty dollars poorer, bitch."

Tim huffed. "I will _win_ and I know it."

Stephanie rolled her eyes and they lapsed into silence again.

"Were you awake the whole time or was it insomnia again?" Steph eventually asked, her eyes closed. Tim assumed Duke had gone to bed.

Tim banged his head softly against the wall, tilting his head to study the pale rose wallpaper decorated with with tiny white and purple flowers. "Insomnia. And I gave up on sleep."

"Must've been bad, then," Steph murmured sleepily.

Tim thought of the jumbled mess that had been the nightmare-- watching the Graysons fall, laying broken and bleeding on the ground, an older Dick screaming and crying and whirling on Tim the second he'd placed his hand on his shoulder to comfort him, his face morphing into Jason's, his features almost nightmarish as he repeated "replacement" over and over, advancing slowly before pulling out a gun and shooting Tim directly in the heart. He shuddered.

"Not one of the worst," he admitted. "But still bad."

Steph began humming softly, and it took a few seconds before Tim recognized it was Revenge Party and huffed a disbelieving laugh. Of course she was humming that fucking song. Tim pulled out his phone and squinted at the screen, his eyes aching at the brightness, even at the lowest setting. He sent Kon a quick good morning text, knowing the moment he woke up, Tim would hear about it all day. He smiled fondly.

"Tim," Steph muttered sleepily, letting her head fall on Tim's shoulder.

"Yeah?" he asked, glancing at her.

She hummed. "Y'know what I hate?"

"What?" he asked softly, reaching up and twirling a strand of her hair around his finger.

"That brat has the same name as Damian."

Tim paused, trying to make sense of that sentence.

"Damian?"

Steph nodded. "From Mean Girls."

Tim blinked. "Of course. Of course it's from Mean Girls."

"You go, Glen Coco," Steph said before dissolving in a fit of giggles. "I think I need sleep."

Tim raised his eyebrows. "Me too."

Steph got to her feet, using the wall as a crutch. Tim got up too, ready to go back to his room and continue watching his documentary but Steph caught his arm in a surprisingly strong grip for someone swaying on their feet, two seconds away from collapsing on the ground and falling asleep.

"Nuh-uh, Boy Genius," she said. "You're sleeping. I'll make sure of it. You're sleeping with me. I'll cuddle your nightmares away."

Tim blinked, then sighed, seeing no way out of this situation. "Okay, but if I accidentally kick you off the bed, it's your fault."

Steph giggled.

"I'm serious! You're not allowed to hold a grudge."

Steph said nothing, simply led him to her queen sized bed in her ridiculously huge bedroom, pushed the laptop to the side and forced Tim in the bed before pulling the warm covers over them both.

"This is nice," she said and Tim silently agreed. "No wonder Conner's still with you. You're very warm." She patted his chest sleepily. 

"Are you implying the only reason Kon is dating me is because I'm huggable?" 

"Yes."

Tim loved Sleepy Steph. She had absolutely no filter. Once he'd recorded her ranting for a whole hour about the cultural impact of Mean Girls at 3am while she stared blankly at a wall without blinking once. Instagram and Twitter had gone nuts for twelve hours and #StephanieBrown was trending all day. Tim and Duke never let her live it down. Of course afterwards, Steph had taken his phone and put it in the blender in a fit of anger, and they had to buy Tim a new phone and Alfred a new blender.

"I want Alfred's pancakes for breakfast," Steph mumbled, wrapping her arms around Tim, probably to keep him from leaving the moment she fell asleep, and promptly fell asleep, snoring softly.

When Tim left his final class of the day, he felt like he'd been mowed down by a lawn tractor. He'd had a dissertation in his economics class and two lectures on top of two hours of sociology. He was genuinely starting to regret applying for college, but Steph told him it would be good for him. Ha. At least college meant no more incidents with Damian. For the day, he was Bruce and Alfred's problem. And Dick, who wasn't due back in Blüdhaven until next week. Wally could pop in any time, it's not like _that_ was a problem for him.

However, it also meant that there was a chance he'd see Jason. Steph, Tim and Jason all went to Gotham University. Bruce had wanted to fix his relationship with Jason, and while that was definitely not working, Bruce still had Jason's college fund saved up and told Jason he'd pay his tuition. Jason got angry and told Bruce he didn't want his money. In the end, Bruce ended up paying half the tuition and Jason was working to pay the other half. Tim was fairly certain this was the only actual time Jason and Bruce had actually _solved_ an argument without yelling at each other and throwing kitchen appliances at each other. Tim frowned. _Jason_ was the one throwing appliance, not Bruce. 

Tim considered swinging by West Robinson High School, but decided against it when he remembered this morning's argument. Tim had officially decided against eating with every single family member. It always ended with someone saying something deliberately cruel and two or more people to storm out. He winced at the harsh words he'd spat at Duke and knew he should probably apologize. But Duke also had to learn that some people just can't get along. And it seemed that Bruce, Dick, Jason and Tim would be one of those people. Cass never stuck around anyone except Steph and Harper, and even then, she would resort to cruel words to get people to stop prying or talking to her. Harper just shut down and stopped talking if someone asked the wrong question. It seemed everyone had a miscommunication issue.

Tim sardonically thought about making his midterm sociology dissertation on his family. It would surely fill more than twelve pages, _that_ was sure. Or maybe he'd take Duke up on his offer to see a therapist like him and Dick. _That_ would end well.

Tim's phone buzzed uncomfortably in his pocket. He pulled it out, ready to decline the call when he saw Conner's name. He answered the call.

"Hey," Tim greeted.

"I can hear your negative thoughts from here," Kon accused. 

"Good afternoon to you too," Tim replied. "And I'm fine, by the way. Bruce just found out he actually had a kid with Talia freakin' Al Ghul and he's absolutely batshit crazy. He scratched Steph last night."

Kon laughed. " _Another_ kid? What's that? Number ten?"

"Nine, actually," Tim corrected. "And he's _so sweet_. God I swear I'll go insane before I even finish college. Which would be a shame, considering how I'm slaving through classes that make me want to throw myself out of a window."

"I was actually calling to see if you wanted to stay at mine for a while."

Tim stopped walking. "Kon, you live in Metropolis. I can't go back and forth every day. It's three hours away by car."

"I can fly."

"I--" Tim paused. Why did he feel ready to cry? Goddammit he was in the middle of a street in broad daylight. If there was least appropriate moment, this definitely had to be it. "Can you come over instead? I have an apartment-slash-safehouse in the Upper West Side."

"I'll be there. You want Thai or Indian for dinner?"

Tim pondered for a second, finally feeling himself calm down a little. "Surprise me."

"You got it. Love you."

"I love you too," Tim said, smiling brightly and Kon hung up.

He readjusted his bag and smiled all the way to the parking lot and was still smiling when he parked his car in front of the manor. He dropped his bag and keys on the marble countertop of one of the three islands in the kitchen, a kitchen big enough to be the size of a small apartment _at least_. Jason, having grown up in a poor neighborhood in Gotham and had lived with Bruce only a year and a half before dying and coming back, always liked to mutter 'rich people' when he walked in the ridiculously large kitchen. Tim knew it was mostly a joke, and one he made to rile Bruce, because Jason was more than glad to use the space to cook and bake. Tim was fairly sure that was why he popped by so often most of the time.

The other reason Jason showed up was definitely because of Steph and Duke. Steph was his sparring partner and for some incomprehensible reason, Jason hung out around Duke willingly. Dick didn't like it, but didn't bring up. He had once, and Jason had fallen off his chair laughing when Dick told him he was "corrupting Duke".

Tim decided it wouldn't hurt to steal something from the fridge before gathering the textbooks he needed from his room and his suit and heading over to his apartment. 

He opened the fridge and glanced around. There was nothing. Tim had no energy to make something, but everything he saw sucked. Maybe the pantry would yield better results. He opened the door and brightened when he saw the Froot Loops he'd forgotten he'd asked Alfred to buy. He set the box on the counter and opened a cabinet and reached for a bowl.

"You're back," a voice behind him spoke, startling him.

Tim spun around and saw Damian standing in the entryway, wearing a black turtleneck and a blank expression. Tim was seventy-five percent sure the kid was actually a robot. Clone was ruled out because of the dark skin and green eyes, and Tim noticed for the first time that this previously brown hair was black. That explained the vinegar last night, at least.

"Yes I am," Tim agreed, shutting the cupboard and reaching in the fridge for the milk, shutting the door with his foot. "Do you need something?"

Damian stood there for a moment and watched Tim pour cereal and milk in his bowl.

"What were you doing last night?" Tim asked, deciding he might as well say something. 

"Mapping out the manor for every possible exit," Damian replied.

Tim looked back up at the kid ready to laugh, and saw his serious expression. "Shit, you're not kidding?"

Damian frowned. "Why would I? In Croatia we were not careful enough and I was almost taken back to my grandfather. I know where every possible exit are in the manor. In this room, too."

Tim raised a questioning eyebrow. "How many, then?"

"Eleven," he replied. "It was not my fault Brown snuck up on me and I thought she was an enemy."

Tim winced. "Yeah. She's really not happy about that. You might want to apologize."

Damian looked genuinely confused and Tim remembered first meeting Cass, so locked away from society and the general world she simply fell out of touch with it, and couldn't comprehend simple, every day things.

"Why? She fought well. Thomas is the one who should apologize."

Tim poked his cereal with his spoon. "Oh trust me, You're gonna get the full Duke Apology."

"The Duke Apology?"

"The apology hug, about a thousand apologies, the apology movie night, and more apology hugs." Tim counted of on his fingers. "The Duke Apology. Pro tip; just let it happen."

Damian scowled. "A simple apology would suffice."

"You can sit, you know," Tim told him, gesturing at the bar stool next to him, ignoring Damian's look. "I'm gonna leave after this. There's no need for _me_ to sit. And I've been sitting for eight hours. I'm sick of it."

Damian sat down and stared at Tim, which greatly unnerved him. "Why do you all hate each other?" he asked. "Thomas and Brown seem to be the only ones acting normal around here."

Tim snorted. "Let's see. Dick wants to kill Bruce and Jason, Jason wants to kill all of us, me particularly, and I want to kill Jason. Cass and Harper are both emotionally repressed. And all of us suck at communication and therapy would do us a lot of good, but for some reason, we've all collectively decided we were too stupidly stubborn for that."

Once again, Damian looked confused. "I do not understand. Is it not in your best interest to work together? You all live together."

Tim moved to set his empty bowl in the sink. "Why do you think we try to spend as much time out of the manor as we can?"

"You will have to stay here. Father is worried Ra's will come after you."

Tim shoved the apprehension away, deciding it would not be today's problem. Was he more worried at the prospect of spending more time around the ticking time bomb that was the manor, or at the idea that one of them might die? Again. He didn't know.

"Well guess what? That's going to be a problem for another day." Tim patted Damian's small shoulder. "Don't stress too much, we can take care of ourselves."

"Not against Ra's," Damian called after Tim.

Once out of his sight, Tim shook his head. He was well aware of that, unfortunately.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am having so much fun writing Jason


	4. Careful Observation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i write most of these chapters during zoom classes or at 1am, there is no in between

By Damian's third day, he'd met everyone, and he liked approximately two of them. Sometimes the number went up to three. Cain and Brown were the most tolerable. Unlike the others, they never talked about their feelings the way Grayson and Thomas tried, and didn't yell at everyone like Todd and Drake did. He already had them all mostly figured out. Certain days, Damian found Drake to be useful and less annoying. Damian appreciated his intelligence, and their conversation was always careful and controlled, never straying from the topic of Drake's studies. Drake seemed to tiptoe around Damian to avoid getting angry with him, and Damian wondered if it had to do with his strained relationship with Todd.

Todd did not consider himself part of the family. He was barely there, a ghost wandering halls and breaking things in fits of rage. Damian had once caught him sparring with Brown in the Batcave while exploring the Wayne Manor vents and had sat on one of the rafters watching their session with attention. The two did not spar like Damian would, back at the League. He'd been taught to be light on his feet, to use his limbs to strike down his opponent in just a few quick strikes. Brown and Todd sparred more heavily, their feet anchored on the ground and using their full body weight, slamming violently into each other.

Cain sparred differently. She was quiet and fought almost exactly like Damian. Of course, her mother was Lady Shiva and her father had raised her like a League Assassin. She fought like a League Assassin. Though her speech impairment was quite cumbersome, and Damian lost no time learning sign language to make conversations with her more efficient and less grating on his ears and nerves. But there was a darkness hanging around her, and Damian could not figure it out. He'd tried, but she'd simply stopped saying anything and Damian could see he'd get nothing out of her.

Brown was very friendly, not as much as Thomas, but she found ways to hang around Damian. Damian could tell she did not trust him, that she was not a very trusting person. She trusted her family, but Damian was a stranger, a threat. Brown didn't seem to trust people easily. She'd talked to him the most since his arrival, and yet he still felt as if he knew next to nothing about her. 

Thomas seemed to like everyone, and was liked by everyone. He seemed to be a people magnet. Though Damian felt strange around him, a weird feeling, not apprehension, more like there was something he was missing. An important puzzle piece he did not have and did not know what it looked like. 

Row and her brother were not around often, they were completely independent, and Damian had seen her once, but judging by everyone's bright moods and Bruce's surprising chattiness with her made it clear she was still considered family. It hadn't taken Damian long-- only a trip to the Batcave and breaking into the Batcomputer-- to figure out why and to eliminate them as potential threats. 

Grayson was more difficult to read. He had seen a lot. Whenever Damian looked into his eyes, he felt like he was looking into the eyes of Ra's, old, burdened, but Grayson's midnight blue eyes carried none of the hard bitterness and cruelty Ra's had. Grayson's eyes were kind and compassionate, but shadowed with deep sadness. Drake's eyes carried that same sadness, but his were not quite as soft as Grayson's. Grayson carried his heart on his sleeve, and that would be the maker of his own Greek tragedy.

Bruce Wayne was the one Damian deciphered the most easily. His love for his family was no secret, and rather evident really, which really told Damian how obtuse his father's...family seemed to be. Especially Grayson, which Damian found rather surprising. From what he'd heard, Grayson seemed closest to his father than any of the others, but there seemed to be a certain electrified tension between the two. The others were all aware, as Damian never saw any of them leave his father and Grayson alone together for any length of time. Not that Grayson willingly spent time alone with Father. In fact, he seemed to avoid him even more than Todd.

Bruce Wayne's mismatched family was a fractured mess and Damian was frustrated he couldn't see the full extent of their fractures just yet. There was...a lot to sift through. 

Damian shut the notebook and shoved it under the floorboard he'd pried loose his first night at the manor and placed it carefully down before replacing the board. He knew the others would see him taking notes on them as paranoia or a form of privacy invasion, but he was the one person here who could not afford being caught off guard. And it gave him something to do. He'd already explored every inch of the manor, found secret tunnels he doubted his father even knew about, had become familiar with every vent, loose locks and creaky floorboards and Father would not allow him to go on patrol with them. 

Damian made his way down the stairs and heard the sound of talking getting louder as he approached the kitchen. He'd been awake since half past five and had spent most of his time training in the Batcave before eventually going back to digging into the people he was currently living with. It would only be temporary and he would burn the notebook the moment it was no longer of use to him, when his mother came back, or until he would simply have to leave again.

He had shared that possibility to Drake one evening when the two ended up going down to the kitchen for dinner at the same time, and Drake had gotten all determined and promising Damian he was safe here with them. Damian knew the others would have reactions similar to Drake's, letting their emotions cloud the logic of it. It was a simple fact; Damian could not stay. It would put himself and everything his mother had worked for to waste and would only bring harm to his father's wards.

"Good morning," Grayson greeted him cheerfully from where he stood by the toaster and fridge, eggs and bacon cooking in separate pans on the stove. 

The others muttered half hearted greetings, all of them battered and exhausted despite it being only seven. Grayson quickly grabbed the two slices of toast that popped out and dropped them on a plate, wiping his hands on his sweatpants, hissing in pain. Damian took note of the half empty glass of apple juice and the empty plate sitting on one of the counters the furthest away from the table, and therefore Bruce Wayne.

Damian did not reply, he simply took his seat at the kitchen table. They never ate breakfast in the dining room, only dinner and lunch, and it wasn't like everyone was present at breakfast. Drake had stopped showing up after a particularly angry argument with Thomas, Todd was only there once or twice a week and always grabbed a plate and left. The only people in attendance every morning were Damian's father, Brown and Thomas. Cain came but never stayed long and Grayson tried to stay, or help Alfred make breakfast, but never sat down. It would make arguing with Bruce too easy.

Grayson set a plate with two buttered toast and an omelet in front of Damian. 

"This is your bread," Damian blurted out.

Grayson laughed, ruffling Damian's hair. He scowled, flattening his hair and ready to throw his fork at Grayson, but he was already whirling away. It seemed his every move was swift and graceful, like a ballerina. He always seemed to be dancing rather than walking. It was slightly mesmerizing. 

"I can make more, Lil' D," he replied. "Besides, I made you an omelet."

Damian's chest felt weird when it occurred to him that Grayson had remembered Damian's request for an omelet in lieu of bacon yesterday. He had not expected him to remember.

"That nickname is so adorable," Thomas gushed, mouth full of Cap'n Crunch.

Damian's scowl deepened. "No, it is not. I told you to stop calling me that."

Grayson grinned. "Duke is right. It's adorable."

"You will lose your arm."

Grayson shrugged. "Wouldn't be fun to give you a nickname if there wasn't a challenge, would it?"

Brown laughed in surprise and Damian's father, who had been halfway through a book, smirked slightly. 

"And you are surprised why the others never join us for breakfast," he muttered, annoyed, biting into his toast.

"They never join us because it's too early to fight in the morning," Grayson corrected, pointing the butter knife at him.

Thomas looked around. "Speaking of fighting, we seem to be missing our favorite mediator. Where'd Alfred go?"

Grayson hesitated and Damian's eyes narrowed. "Out," he said simply. "He should be back soon."

"Where?" Brown asked. 

Father's lips curled up slightly. "It's a surprise," he told them. 

Brown and Thomas immediately perked up.

"A surprise?" Brown asked at the same time Thomas groaned, "damn, am I going to miss out again?"

Damian remained silent, stabbing his fork into his omelet and nodding at Grayson when he set a steaming mug of tea in front of him.

"It's for Damian," Father replied.

Damian choked on his tea and quickly set his mug down. "For me?"

Brown and Thomas both seemed equally as surprised, though Grayson was grinning widely-- traitor.

"And the surprise will still be there when some of us come back from school," Father said, casting meaningful glance at the two. 

Thomas checked his watch and swore loudly, jumping out of his seat.

"I have a test in math today!" he exclaimed, rushing out the door, followed by Brown's cackles. "Shit shit shit."

Damian's father raised an eyebrow at Brown. "Doesn't class start at nine for you?"

Brown shrugged, raking a hand through her golden blond hair and pulling it back in a ponytail. "Yeah, but it doesn't matter if I'm late. The professor doesn't give a shit."

"I do give a shit, as it so happens."

Brown shrugged. "It's not like I've never been late before, you know."

"Remind me who pays for your tuition again?" Father asked, cocking an eyebrow in vague amusement.

Damian caught Grayson's eye and the two made brief eye contact while Grayson tried to hide his smirk by bringing his coffee mug to his lips.

"Half of my tuition, I still have a partial scholarship. Get off my ass."

"Word to the wise," Father told Brown as he finished his coffee. "If you're gonna be late to school, make sure your father doesn't find out."

With that, he walked out, taking the time to set his plate and mug in the sink.

Brown sunk in her chair, crossing her arms and mumbling, "I get higher grades than Tim."

"Really?" Grayson asked. "I would assume you would get better grades than Jason while Tim obliterates both your asses in school."

Brown laughed. "No way, Dickie boy. Jason's the one who gets the best grades."

Grayson smiled incredulously. "I assumed. Jason can be an idiot sometimes."

"If you agree with Brown and then say Todd is an idiot, you are contradicting yourself, Grayson," Damian said.

"No, Dick's right. Jason is an idiot, but he's a smart idiot."

"There is no smart way to go about being an idiot," Damian replied.

Brown laughed and leaned forward, her baby blue eyes sparkling. "No, there isn't. But what I mean, is there's a difference between being a dumbass and smart."

Damian stared at her blankly. "Do continue explaining whatever you mean, as I cannot fathom what your point is here."

"See, Jason can have plans that rival Tim's and is the quickest to adapt to a new situation almost flawlessly, but at the same time, I once saw him spend an hour trying to catch a pigeon to release it in Tim's room."

Damian frowned. "So?"

"So-- Dick, sit your ass down and help me explain this."

Grayson sighed, but pushed himself off where he was leaning against the counter and sat down.

"Okay, look at it this way," he started. "Jason's brain has thousands of ideas, but Jason doesn't filter good ideas from bad ideas and just executes all of them. Tim, similarly, has lots of ideas all the time, but unlike Jason, thinks his through."

Damian stared at the two in silence, and they grinned back expectantly.

"This is very confusing," he settled on saying.

Brown's grinned. "You have been educated, little brother."

Damian stiffened in his chair and Brown's grin fell. The light and playful air hanging around them became heavy with tension.

"I-I should get going," she stuttered, standing up shakily. "Can't be too late to class."

She dashed out of the room, leaving Damian with Grayson and a room heavy with tension. Damian was still frozen in his seat and refused to meet Grayson's eyes.

"Lil' D--" Grayson started.

"It's fine," Damian snapped. "She meant nothing."

Grayson let Damian walk out and did not follow.

An hour and twenty three minutes later, there was knocking at Damian's door. He could tell it was his father because of his heavier footfalls. Grayson's footsteps were always silent, and Damian could tell it was almost effortless. He did it without thinking about it, and Damian thought being raised at a circus as an acrobat would make anyone walk with as much agility as he would when soaring through the air.

Damian opened the door.

His father stood there, wearing the same white dress shirt and dark slacks, but with a purple tie. "Alfred is in the foyer. We got you something."

Damian sighed, but followed his father down the stairs wondering why he was receiving a gift. He hadn't done anything gift worthy. In the main foyer stood Pennyworth, Grayson and Cain. The butler was holding a large cardboard box in his hands and Grayson was grinning like an idiot, his hair brushed and curling, any signs of their previous discomfort gone. Cain's face expressed no emotion and her short hair was kept out of her face by colorful hairclips, the only splash of color on her.

"Alfred had the wonderful idea to get you a welcoming gift," Grayson exclaimed, wrapping an arm around Cain. 

Even Damian's father was smiling, not a half smile or a smirk, but a wide, joyful smile. "We let Alfred choose, as it was his idea, but the gift comes from all of us," he told on him.

Pennyworth handed Damian the box. "I do hope you enjoy your gift, Master Damian," the butler said, his eyes crinkling when he smiled. "It was not easy to find something that might please you."

Damian carefully took the box and opened it with one hand. He almost dropped it when he saw the tiny black kitten curled in one corner. His mouth dropped open.

"What is this?" he asked, his voice dropped to a whisper.

"A kitten, Master Damian," Pennyworth said. "I do mean it as a compliment when I say he reminded me of you."

Damian dropped the lid of the box and picked up the kitten with one hand, dropping the rest of the box to hold it in both hands. The kitten didn't struggle, its wide yellow eyes staring into Damian's unblinking. The cat's paws, snout and belly were white, as if he'd been trekking through snow and it had stained his fur. Damian gently rested the kitten in his arms and ran his fingers through his fur. 

"Is your gift to your liking, Master Damian?" Pennyworth asked.

Damian didn't reply, just stared at the tiny little creature in his arms and wondered how something could be so tiny and so fragile. He knew he should not act like this, an Al Ghul being gentle with anything was beneath him, but Damian could not bring himself to be anything but gentle. 

"You should name him," Grayson whispered, having walked over to Damian soundlessly.

Cain had also approached, and reached a hand out tentatively, and when Damian did not stop her, began stroking the cat's head softly.

"I'll call him Alfred," Damian said in a muted voice, caressing the cat and smiling when he started purring.

"Alfred the cat," Father said, and Damian could hear the smile in his voice. "It would only be fitting. Wouldn't you think so Alfred?"

Pennyworth smiled. "So long as it pleases Master Damian."

The moment was broken by Grayson's watch beeping and his quiet curse and Damian looked up in surprise, though Cain hardly paid it any attention. Alfred the cat hissed, his fur raising and Damian immediately resuming stroking the cat's back. 

"What is it?" Damian asked.

"It's nothing," Grayson assured him. "It's just therapy. I need to get going."

He pulled Cain in a quick hug, ruffled Damian's hair, stroked Alfred's ear and waved to Pennyworth before vanishing through the front door. Damian did not miss the way Grayson bid no goodbyes to Bruce, or the way his father's shoulders slumped, _or_ Pennyworth's frown. 

"Grayson told me he had never read The Hobbit last night," Damian said. "We met in the library. He was searching for the book."

With that, he left his father and Pennyworth and took the cat to the kitchen. He knew there was leftover bacon from breakfast that morning and Alfred might be hungry, Cain trailing after him quietly. 

"Oh my God, you got a cat!" a voice screeched as the front door slammed shut.

Damian, who had heard the door open, did not jump, just sighed in exasperation. He and Cain were laying on the couch with 101 Dalmatians playing on the huge plasma screen TV in one of the other numerous living rooms, Alfred snuggled up on a pillow between them, asleep.

Brown and Thomas rushed into the living room as Damian paused the movie. He frowned, it was a very intriguing part of the movie, with the dogs attempting to escape on a truck, and very much did not want to stop watching. 

_He's sleeping,_ Cain signed, pointing at the cat. _Be quiet._

Brown and Thomas immediately quieted, but still stroked the cat and muttered loving terms and Damian could tell this cat was going to be very loved. Drake was also dragging behind them, casting a nervous glance at Thomas. He'd been walking on eggshells ever since their argument at breakfast two days ago, and Damian knew Thomas had forgiven Drake, but it seemed the issue was that Drake had yet to forgive himself.

"If you want my permission to pet my cat, Drake," Damian told him. "You are allowed."

Drake looked at Damian as if he'd given him unlimited control of the Batmobile, which Damian found utterly ridiculous. Drake approached slowly, letting his book bag fall on a couch and knelt in front of the cat, making sure to put Brown in between them. He kept casting nervous glances at Thomas, who seemed way too preoccupied with the kitten to really notice. Though his brown eyes kept flickering from Alfred to Drake every so often, as if working up the courage to say something.

"Do you want to watch the movie with us?" Damian asked, antsy to keep watching an tired of watching everyone tiptoe around each other as if waiting for a bomb to go off.

No one objected, so Damian clicked the remote and the movie resumed.

"Um," Thomas cleared his throat just as Cruella was run off the side of the cliff. "Tim, I, uh..."

Drake had taken the seat next to Damian, as it was the furthest away from Thomas. He stiffened, eyes gazing nervously at Thomas, bracing for an argument that would never come.

"That stuff you said," Thomas stumbled on. "About the Robin thing...I know you didn't mean it."

They lapsed into silence, everyone tense except for Cain and Damian, who just wanted to watch the movie. The animation was spectacular and he was trying to memorize Roger and Pongo's faces so he could draw them later. 

"Um...do you--I never finished watching the second season of Star Trek," Thomas continued awkwardly. "Do you...want to watch it with me?"

There was another pause and the whole room seemed to hold its breath.

"Yeah," Drake replied softly. "I'd--I'd like that."

the breath everyone had been holding seemed to release softly and the tension seeped into the walls and everyone sat back and watched the movie in silence.

* * *

_alf got damian a kitten,_ read Duke's text and Jason had to read twice before it fully computed.

 _He got the brat a w h a t_ _?_ he texted back.

The second he'd gotten out of his final class at one, he'd swung by the store to buy the necessary ingredients for dinner tonight as well as new pens, because Jason burned through pencils in one week than he did of bullets in one night. Afterwards, he'd gone back home, and Kori was already there, squinting at the TV at a show that was playing.

"What'cha watching?" he asked her, setting the plastic bags on the kitchen counter.

"Something called Criminal Minds," she replied. "It is incredibly interesting."

Jason blinked. When Kori was not on mission, she would stay in their apartment and either attempt to cook, or work out Earth technology, which she'd never thought of doing before, which Jason never failed to mock her about. He stopped when she threatened to incinerate him on the spot.

Jason nodded. "That's wonderful. It's a good show."

He was absolutely not going to mention he had a crush on Spencer Reid when he'd first began watching the series when he was thirteen.

He'd left the ingredients spread out and had gotten started on the book he was supposed to have finished reading last week when Duke had texted him.

 _a kitten,_ Duke replied. _it was a welcome gift, but i think it's more to make him less hostile_

_Alfred never got ME a kitten when i first moved in :(_

_were you raised by assassins and then spent 6 years running from them?_

_...no_

_there you go._

Jason focused back on his book, The Castle by Franz Kafka, which was already deeply unsettling, when his phone buzzed again. He sighed, but knew he'd rather be on his phone than read the book. This time, it was Babs who had texted.

 _Apparently Damian got a cat???_ was the text.

 _yeah, Duke just told me_ he replied. 

_Yeah, and the kid named it Alfred. Steph sent me a pic_

Jason snorted. He named the cat after the butler?

_fucking Alfred? how the hell are we supposed to make the difference between the cat and the butler NOW? did being on the run hinder his creativity?_

_Leave the kid alone, Jason_ 🙄

_are you gonna swing by the manor?_

_Yeah. I'm gonna bring Harper and Cullen to see the cat. Cass asked me to._

Jason paused, then let his fingers hover over the keyboard, then typed something, deleted it, and rewrote it again. 

_if i swing by, will you be there?_

Babs took a while to reply.

 _Of course. I'll probably spend the night_ 😉

Jason smiled. He'd missed seeing Babs physically for longer than five minutes. He talked to her on comms when she was Oracle, and sometimes swung by her apartment, but never really found the time to really hang out with someone he genuinely considered his older sister.

 _You just have to bring me whatever you're making for dinner_ , Babs texted.

_Don't tell me you're not the one making dinner, because that is a LIE_

Jason grinned. 

_i'm making chili. it's gonna be spicy_

_Wonderful._

Jason turned off his phone, then genuinely considered going on TikTok, or Twitter instead of reading his book, then groaned and rolled over on his stomach, tossing his phone on the other side of the bed and went back to reading his book. He still had half an hour before work, and he might as well read the book during his free time.

"Are you spending the night at the manor or are you coming back?" Roy asked from his position on the couch where his head rested in Kori's lap.

Kori was lazily braiding his ginger hair in intricate braids and Queen was playing faintly on Roy's record player.

Jason hesitated at the window. "I don't know," he admitted. "I might stay to hang out with Babs and spar with Steph, but I don't know."

"I could pick you up," Kori volunteered. "It would be faster."

Jason hesitated, then decided he might as well stay the night at the manor. "Nah, don't stay up for me." He grinned. "I'll stay the night at the manor."

"Okay!" Roy said. "Love you."

"Love you," Kori said. "Say hi to Dick for me, please."

Jason leaned over the couch and gave Roy and Kori a quick kiss.

"Love you both, _mis amores_ ," he told them before adjusting his helmet and slipping out the window and disappeared into the night.

Patrol went relatively well, which was much better than last night and his unfortunate encounter with Two Face and his even more unfortunate pair up with Red Robin. The Signal was still benched for the week. Red Hood stumbled into Batgirl on his way to the manor.

"Hey Black Bat" he greeted. "How was your night so far? I've had Oracle gush in my ear about my cooking."

 _Tell her I'll tell Alfred she prefers your cooking to his,_ she signed and Jason laughed.

"Hey, O, Black Bat says she'll tell Alfred you prefers my cooking over his."

Oracle spluttered. _"Okay, Black Bat, I absolutely_ do not _prefer Hood's cooking over Alfred, I'm just happy to see him! God."_

Bat laughed and Red Hood pouted under his helmet.

"Favoritism, O," Bat said.

_"If any of you tell this to Alfred, I promise I will post every embarrassing picture I have of both of you on every social media platform."_

"Alfred the cat, or Alfred the human?" Red Hood asked, stifling a laugh.

_"Jason Peter Todd, I swear--"_

Black Bat cackled. 

_"Cassandra Cain-Wayne--"_

"If I share my food, will you promise not to tell Alfred the human?" Red Hood asked Black Bat.

She raised an eyebrow. _Maybe._

Jason exhaled. "I'll stay the night and help Alfred the human make pancakes tomorrow?"

Bat grinned. _Okay._

Red Hood rolled his eyes. "Don't worry, O. She won't talk."

The two jumped from the roof and made their way back to the manor.

 _"Oh, and I never want either of you to call Alfred 'Alfred the human' to his face,"_ Oracle added. _"Not even I could protect you from Alfred's wrath."_

Red Hood rolled his eyes. "I fucking died. I'm immune."

_"Not to Alfred. Trust me."_

"Tsch. He's the one who let the brat name the fucking cat Alfred, not me."

Jason was sitting next to Cass and Harper and Babs, chatting with them about the novel he was supposed to read for his class with his hands. It was well past after two in the morning and they were sitting around one of the kitchen islands, Babs finishing Jason's chili while the others munched on shrimp chips Harper had brought back with her from that cheap general store across her apartment building. Bruce was also in the kitchen, sitting at the table, reviewing the documents of a case he and Red Robin were currently struggling with. The others had long since retired, Tim and Duke to watch Star Trek and Steph to work ahead on her anthropology paper and Damian God knew where, probably terrorizing someone that was not Jason, which Jason was not about to complain about.

The conversation had gone from the actual plot of the book to the theme of alienation and they were having an animated discussion that was interrupted by Dick's entrance in the kitchen. Harper had noticed his presence first and stopped animatedly signing about alienation being society's fault and the others had looked up to watch Dick, dark hair a shiny black and hanging in face and dripping on his sleep shirt, walk up to Bruce.

"Bruce, what's this?" Dick asked, holding up a book, in his other hand crumpled brown package.

Bruce looked up, eyes tired and bloodshot and frowned slightly. "A book. For you."

"Yes," Dick replied, slightly frustrated. "But _why_?"

Bruce's bemused frowned deepened. "I wanted to give you something."

Dick blinked. He seemed to hesitate between getting angry at Bruce and just staring in absolute confusion. "Okay," he lamely said.

Jason clicked his tongue. Fucking idiots, the both of them. If they started an argument at this hour, Jason was going to get up and walk away-- either to his room or back home, he didn't know or care. Thankfully, Dick did not start arguing, just awkwardly shuffled out of the room.

"Uh...thanks. I guess." Dick frowned and left the room.

There was a beat of silence, then Cass huffed impatiently and drew Jason's attention back to her.

 _They always argue. Harper was talking_.

Jason grinned, attention successfully diverted back to Harper and the others. "Okay, but you were talking about society's role in the ostracization of an individual, and I was actually really interested. Please go on."

Really, none of them needed to think too much about Dick and Bruce's little disagreement. Or his and Bruce's. Or his and the Replacement's... Fuck, this family had too many damn issues. He shoved the thought aside and focused fully on Harper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> damian: i'm not gonna get attached to them!  
> me: oh, damian, sweetie....


	5. Unexpected (But Not Entirely Unpleasant) Surprises

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wrote half of this chapter at 3am with 2 weeks' worth of sleep deprivation so like, if the end doesn't make much sense, that's on me sorry lol

"I just don't understand what Bruce is doing here," Dick groaned, flopping on the couch.

Wally laughed. "Maybe he's just trying to be nice," he said, curling next to Dick.

Dick grimaced. "That's ridiculous. He hasn't lifted a finger since... whatever. Why _now_?"

Wally's face became more serious. "He wanted to protect you, Dick." His forest green eyes were worried. "What he did was shitty, yeah, but why don't you try to talk about it? With him?"

Dick was always the one preaching a peaceful conversation to work out any issues. Sounded real hypocritical coming from the guy who barely acknowledged the existence of his adoptive father.

"I'm a hypocrite," Dick said. "I'm an absolute hypocrite."

Wally frowned in confusion. "What brought _that_ on?"

Dick glared at him. "I tell everyone to talk it out, but can't seem to do that with the one person I need to talk things out with."

Wally shrugged. "Worse things have been done by worse people, Dick." Wally raised his hand and let it hover over Dick's silky hair. "Can I touch you?" he asked softly.

Dick closed his eyes and hummed and Wally began running his long fingers through Dick's hair in soothing motions. Dick shivered and relaxed, feeling the way his head was pressed against Wally's thigh, feeling the fingers comb delicately through his hair.

"What's the book he got you?" Wally asked.

"The Hobbit," he replied. "Been wanting to read it. Must've found out."

Wally hummed. "How's the new kid doing?"

Dick shrugged. "He's got a kitten and he loves it. I actually thought it would make him more... dare I say, _tame_ , but just yesterday morning I caught him hacking away at a dummy in the Batcave with a freaking _sword_. At six in the morning."

Wally snorted, his warm hand pausing in Dick's hair.

"A sword?"

Dick nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah! I don't even know where he got the sword!"

"Did you ask?"

Dick frowned. "He said he took it from an assassin and killed him with it."

Wally's eyes widened, but his lips twisted in a smile. "That's metal as fuck."

Dick glared at his boyfriend and Wally smiled sheepishly.

"I mean, 'oh no! This thirteen year old child has a sword!'"

Dick rolled his eyes playfully and muttered something in Romani. Wally had heard _that_ word enough times to know its meaning at this point.

"I'm _your_ idiot, though." He grinned, leaning down to kiss Dick on the lips.

Dick smiled against his lips and muttered, "that's not even close to what I said."

"So I'm _not_ your idiot?"

Dick kissed him again. "Yes, you are."

Wally pulled away and Dick sat up, shifting on the couch so that he was facing him. Dick memorized the face of the man he wished he could see more often, his fiery hair sticking up in every direction, much darker than Roy's, more like flames. His forest green eyes almost the same shade as Damian's, but Wally's were more carefree. His narrow face covered in a constellation of freckles. Wally was the light of Dick's life, and he would forever be grateful they'd met. Wally was his best friend, even before they became Nightwing and the Flash, when they were Robin and Kid Flash. Wally had known about Dick's parents, and Dick knew about Rudolph West. They were each other's support.

He was already making plans to move back to Gotham, but he didn't want to finalize the plans until he either sorted things out with Bruce or decided he'd had enough and moved to Keystone City with Wally. He didn't want to leave his siblings, which made the decision that much harder and more frustrating. In the meantime, he stayed at one of Bruce's safehouses whenever Wally came to visit. He loved his family, but he was not driving away his boyfriend because of their bickering and tendencies to accidentally firing their weapons into walls. And it gave them the privacy they wanted.

"I'm glad I get to spend the weekend with you," he whispered, taking Wally's warm hands in his own, intertwining his dark fingers with Wally's pale ones. "I missed you."

Wally's lips quirked up. "I missed you, too. I wish I could visit more often."

Dick huffed a laugh. "It's best you didn't. These past two weeks have been hectic since Damian showed up."

Wally's smile widened and the soft moment slowly shifted to something more playful. "Was it because of the sword?"

Dick grinned. "Actually, he's very practiced. He doesn't hurt anyone unless they annoy him. He just has a tendency to --" Dick winced "--creep up on people."

Wally winced in sympathy. "I'm sure _that_ ends well."

Dick laughed, getting up. "As well as you'd expect, unfortunately."

He turned on the kettle on.

"Damian surprises someone, a gun or a batarang gets thrown at him as a reflex, he dodges and tackles them to the ground. It's entertaining as long as you're not on the receiving on those."

Wally positively cackled as the kettle whistled, and Dick poured the boiling water into his mug, letting the herbal teabag steep and swirling in a spoonful of honey before sitting back down on the couch. 

"But I've caught him drawing whenever I pass by his room, so I suppose he's a real human, not some unfeeling machine."

Wally shrugged. "Unless he's drawing all the gruesome ways to kill you all."

Dick blew the steam from his tea. "Either way, he's drawing, and I wanted to get him supplies for his birthday."

Wally immediately perked up at that. "Birthday?"

Dick grinned. "His birthday's on Halloween. We started planning a birthday party. More lowkey, though. Just us and cake. Maybe a movie."

Wally pouted. "It's not fair that you tell me you're gonna have birthday cake and I won't be getting any."

Dick raised an eyebrow and checked the time on his phone. "It's only midnight, and I know for a fact there's a Walmart open 24 hours just a block away." He looked at Wally's confused face. "Want to get birthday cake?"

"But it's not anyone's birthd--"

Dick grinned wickedly. "Yeah, but who's gonna know except us?"

Wally slammed his feet onto the hardwood floor. "That's good enough for me!" he yelled. "Let's get birthday cake!"

* * *

There were holidays Steph didn't look forward to. Thanksgiving was number one on her list. A whole day for families to come together and celebrate white colonists taking advantage of Native American kindness and completely destroying their culture. Steph never liked the history behind Thanksgiving, and loved to classify it as a trash holiday that only existed to give families a whole day to yell at each other during dinner and the potential murder or attempted murder that most often ensued.

Her family was no exception. All previous Thanksgivings had involved a trip to the ER for two or more idiots who had snapped and started throwing objects at each other. And yet, Bruce still held onto the hope that they could have an enjoyable Thanksgiving dinner. The poor doctors seemed to be used to receiving patients on Thanksgiving day, and Steph just had to feel bad for them.

Last year alone they had to buy a whole new set of plates and cups and they couldn't let Jason and Tim within each others' sights for a whole week unless they wanted the two to start shrieking at each other and trying to rip each others' heads off. Dick had gotten a broken arm and Steph a concussion when the two had tried to stop the fighting before things escalated and a small fire was set, like the year _before_ that. This year was assured to be an absolute disaster, _once again_. 

The only part of Thanksgiving day that didn't stress Steph out more than her term finals was the first half of the day, which involved baking and cooking and playful laughter and banter. Even Tim and Jason could put aside their sour attitudes to be in the same room as each other. Jason would do the cooking with Alfred, and Dick had taken up to whipping up Romani deserts his mother had taught him and others he'd looked up. Duke could make a wonderful lemon meringue pie, and for an unexplainable reason, Bruce was a master as napkin folding. Cass and the Row siblings sucked at any form of cooking that didn't involve instant mix or a microwave, but they still found ways to be helpful. Mainly by eating the batter.

At least this year if things went to hell-- which they most likely would--, Steph could drown her sorrows in wine. Not legally, but that was no one's business. 

But Thanksgiving wasn't for another few weeks, and there was Damian's birthday on Halloween to look forward to. Halloween, unlike Thanksgiving, was the best pagan holiday of the year. And so, Steph had decided to start the day with an olive branch. She'd woken up early and went to buy donuts, making sure to get enough for everyone and with their favorite flavors, just in case they might start arguing over donuts, too. God knows they've already argued over plenty of ridiculous topics. She had no idea what donut flavor Damian liked and doubted if he even _knew_ what donuts were, so she decided to go with the maple glaze donut. It was a good flavor.

She parked Tim's car-- it was technically Dick's, but Tim used it most, and Steph occasionally borrowed it-- and hopped out. She crossed the threshold and couldn't hear any yelling, which she counted as a win. Damian's birthday had... surprisingly got most of them working together without too many incidents and arguments. 

"What's up, bitches?" Steph hollered, slamming the kitchen door open. "I brought donuts!"

The kitchen exploded in excited chatter and a few heads leaning against the table perked up suddenly. Steph set down the box on one of the counters right in front of Dick, who was making pancakes, and it wasn't a stretch to assume Jason had made the batter. 

"Donuts?" he asked, turning away for a second, the pancake hanging on the red spatula.

She grinned. "I got everyone's favorite flavors, and I will be giving them to you to avoid any fighting."

She placed a blueberry glaze donut on his plate, and then went around the breakfast table, giving each of them their donuts. They all thanked her with bright smiles. She placed Damian's donut on his plate and he looked up, scowling in confusion. They'd gotten good at reading his scowls, as he communicated mainly through them.

She shrugged. "I didn't know what flavor you liked, so I got you a maple glaze donut."

Damian glared at the donut as if it had personally offended him and Steph had half a mind to ask him jokingly if he was allergic when he spoke up.

"Thank you, Brown," he grumbled out.

She grinned. "Aw, this is the first time you've thanked anyone. I'm so proud. We should take a picture and add it to the scrapbook."

The scowl was back with force. "Your jokes are disappointing and bland," he snapped. 

She grinned, filing away the fact that Damian seemed to like sweet things for later use. 

She would have to swing by the Rows later to give them their donuts, but for now her problem was Jason and Tim. She stepped out in the hall, shutting the door and muffling the cheerful sound of breakfast and pancakes that wafted from the kitchen.

"Jason! Tim! Get your grumpy asses down here or I'll eat both your donuts!" she screamed. Even Alfred had been here to get his. 

Steph should probably feel bad about screaming like this through the house, but the house seemed empty when it was quiet. They had all gone through enough years with screaming fests day in and day out that it felt suspicious when the house was quiet during the day. 

There was a crash from upstairs, a pause, a slamming door, and running footsteps. 

"Did you get me the chocolate donut?" Tim asked from somewhere upstairs. 

"Yes!" she called back. "Come down and eat with us for once!"

Tim practically came tumbling down the enormous staircase, the hair he could manage to hold back were scraped up in a ponytail, most of his chin length hair hanging around his face. He was wearing an oversized red sweater, the sleeves rolled up and the hem tucked into light washed jeans. 

Steph raised an eyebrow. "Nice look. You look like a failed artist."

Tim scowled. "I was asleep."

"And I bought donuts."

Tim rolled his eyes. "So I assume I'm expected to eat with everyone?" 

It was rhetorical, but Steph shrugged. "In the same room, but definitely not within three feet of Jason."

Tim paled. "Jason?"

Steph stared blankly. "Yes, Tim. He's part of this family. I asked him to swing by."

Tim laughed darkly, crossing his arms over his chest. "Part of the-- yeah, he sure is. In fact, he's so part of the family he tells me every time he sees me I don't belong, and how I replaced him, and--"

Steph shoved her hand over his mouth. "You're both parts of this family. Shut up." She tilted her head away from him. "Jason! I got your favorite, but I _will_ eat it!"

"I'm here," Jason grumbled, walking from one of the other rooms. "Jesus do we all have to yell all the time?"

He strolled towards the two casually, and Steph glanced at the pale yellow shirt and unbuttoned flannel shirt he was wearing. He nodded at Steph and Tim, on of his hands shoved in his pockets nonchalantly, the other holding a sky blue volume. 

"Asphyxiation is also a great way to shut someone up," he told her. "If you want them to stay quiet indefinitely, it will definitely do the job for you."

He grinned, all teeth, at Tim, and Steph had the briefest mental image of a cynical thirteen year old Jason giving that identical shit-eating grin to reporters and Gotham villains before landing stinging insults.

Steph raised an eyebrow. "If either of you start arguing, you're not getting your donuts."

Jason shut up and the two followed Steph back to the kitchen. Babs waved at them, finishing the last of her donut.

"Jason," Babs greeted. "How's the book report?"

Jason shrugged, plucking his chocolate frosted donut from the box and setting it on a plate and taking a seat. Bruce had left, as had Duke. Damian had changed seats, picking one further away from the others, and going as far as scooting it just a little farther, and had settled on carefully observing the others.

"It's not a book report, first of all," Jason replied, pouring himself a cup of orange juice. "It's an analysis essay. And it sucks. Kafka's a more depressing bitch than _us,_ and we live in freaking _Gotham_. Gotham is an urban hellhole straight out of one of Poe's stories, sure, but it's _nothing_ compared to the goddamn village."

Babs shrugged. "Hey, at least you have a personal experience with creepy cities."

Jason stared at her. "Your understanding of English literature is abysmal, Barbara."

Dick snorted. "Stop that. You sound like Damian."

Steph nodded gravely, stabbing through her pancakes. "It's creepy."

Jason pointed a knife dripping with maple syrup at her. "Compare me to the pre-teen bastard again. I dare you."

Damian glared. "I wish to inform you all I am still here, and perfectly capable of hearing your conversation."

Steph smiled at him, letting Jason hash it out with the kid, and cast a quick glance at Dick and Tim, who were both seated on stools at one of the kitchen islands and eating pancakes. It was a surprisingly lovely morning. Cass and Babs were both working on a crossword puzzle together in today's newspaper, with Cass sometimes pointing to a word and Babs pronouncing it out loud for her. Tomorrow, Saturday, would be Damian's birthday. There were gifts and balloons ready. Jason and Dick had planned on baking... what Steph guessed to be multiple cakes with Alfred. 

She glanced at Damian, who was angrily arguing with Jason and looking seconds away from splashing his steaming tea in his face, and wondered if he knew they'd throw him a party tomorrow. He didn't trust any of them, and barely talked to them. He talked to her and Cass, but she suspected it was because they were not the ones who opened most easily. It was none of Damian's business, and Steph was determined to keep her father's name from passing her lips for as long as she could. Forever, preferably.

He was an asshole, and she didn't need to talk about him. David Cain was an abusive asshole and Steph desperately wished she'd been the one to put him six feet under the ground in several pieces, but never bringing him up was good enough for her. And occasionally taping his face onto her punching bag and pounding it until she accidentally ripped it off its hooks and it rolled away, sand spilling from a tear in the polyester. 

The kid just had to learn that some people just didn't need to be pushed to spill their sob stories. Steph was not going to be pitied by a tiny assassin gremlin with a fucking katana. Cass would lose control if anyone pitied her. Damian didn't strike her as the kind to pity, but he'd definitely change his demeanor around them if they all spilled their secrets. 

It had taken long-- _too long_ \-- for the others to stop glancing at her when she thought she didn't notice with a sad expression, or pity. She couldn't stand pity. She'd broken three of Dick's fingers when he suggested talking to someone in his soft, patronizing tone. Bruce had been angry, and she'd been seething. She'd snapped at anyone to leave it alone.

And then Cass came along, and she didn't ask any questions. She never questioned Steph's living arrangements, her anger, her refusal to mention her biological parents, her refusal to even say her father's name. And Steph had recognized herself in Cass. She'd asked her if she wanted to spar, and Cass had agreed. 

And Damian was not going to be the first person to give her long looks, to wait for her to snap and become a villain, to go over the edge. Maybe they'd expected her to burst into tears and complain about her father. Steph simply didn't understand pity. She just hated it. 

She felt a tingling sensation and looked up, completely unaware she'd been staring at her fork for the past five minutes, and saw Damian stare at her. His green eyes met hers, and she met his calculating eyes with steely ones. She was challenging him to ask her about her family. She was _daring_ him. A small crease appeared between his eyebrows and something shifted in his eyes. He got up and walked out before she could decipher what it meant. She followed him with her eyes, half proud and half utterly confused. The kid confused her, and she genuinely didn't like it. 

* * *

It was late at night, and Damian knew that by normal thirteen-year-old boy standards, he should be asleep. But he wasn't tired. There was worry gnawing at his stomach, but he shoved it away. He couldn't stop thinking about his mother.

He'd last seen her two weeks ago, dyed red hair darker at the roots, her warm brown skin, her clear green eyes staring into his own, giving him the same instructions she'd repeated over and over for six years. _Hide. Run. Never stay in one place too long. If you feel like you are being watched, leave. The League has found you._ He closed his eyes, her words and her voice playing over and over in his head like a broken record. _Do not get attached. Do not get caught._

His pencil traced dark lines over the paper, with precision. He never drew around people. He had learned not to at the League. He had assumed they'd make him stop, but he could not stop. He had started at five, after he killed that man. The nightmares had plagued him for days, almost driving him mad from fear and exhaustion, but he could not ask his mother or his trainers or Ra's for help. So, one night, when it awoke him too early for anyone to be awake, he'd taken a pen and a sheet of paper and sat at the desk in his room, expecting to write out his dream, but let the pen wander. Drawing, scratching, scribbling, forming the man's body, the bullet hole in his forehead, the blood around his head like a halo, his eyes dead and blank and open, but unseeing and utterly vacant. The next night he had slept without any nightmares.

It had become routine after a while. Damian would be awaken by a nightmare, he would sit at his desk, and draw whatever he'd dreamt until his trainer came to fetch him for his morning lesson. He kept every drawing, tucking them safely away between the pages of books no one would touch, between loose floorboards, anywhere he could think of where no one would find them. And he'd brought them with him, tucked them under the floorboard just underneath his notebook.

After a while, he started drawing people. He drew his mother the most. Now, at nearly midnight, while the others were out on patrol and it was only him and the butler in the manor, with Alfred curled up in the corner of his bed asleep, Damian drew Brown. She'd caught him staring at her this morning, and had held his gaze with steely resolve, her chin raised, her lips pressed in a straight line. He had not been able to shake that face out of his mind. He had only seen his father's children's faces happy, or angry, sad. But he'd never seen them staring at him with defiance, like he was a threat, and they were showing him they were unafraid no matter what he could do to them. And it occurred to him how ruthless they must be out in the streets of Gotham.

He shaded Brown's hair with thin and quick graphite strokes. He'd never drawn with colors, and had no wish to ask his father for colored pencils or drawing paper. He was an Al Ghul and a Wayne, and he was a warrior born and raised, not an artist. He couldn't _do_ anything with his drawings. It was a useless skill. It confused and angered him. He could not find himself dropping it, however. He had no right feeling proud of his drawings. They served no purpose to him. His hand curled around his pencil, then let it clatter onto the paper. 

He got up, leaving the unfinished drawing behind, and rolled onto the bed, curling in on himself, refusing to let himself think about his mother, hurt, somewhere, out of his reach. Or of Brown's defiant face, staring at him stonily like he was the enemy. He _was_ the enemy. He was not here to be friendly with them, or make them like him. He was here to survive. He knew his stay had an expiration date. He lived and breathed for that date, focusing on living to see it come. It was temporary. So why did it hurt this much? Why couldn't he stop thinking about it?

Damian curled further on himself, pausing in confusion when a warm shape climbed over his legs and curled into his chest. He smiled at Alfred, feeling an unexpected pang at the thought of having to leave him behind when he left. He scratched the growing kitten behind his ear. It was midnight. He was thirteen, and no one would know. He did not expect them to. He closed his eyes.

Damian had showed up to breakfast the next morning, quickly grabbing a satsuma and darting back to his room unnoticed and did not leave for the rest of the day. He felt fragile, like an eggshell, about to break in half at the slightest jarring movement. He was thirteen today, and no one had told him anything. About it. He was not sure what he expected. The League did not celebrate birthdays, and his mother only smiled grimly at him and told him it was another year he'd made it to without getting caught. He did not know his expectations had changed during his stay at the manor. Birthdays were just another day among three hundred and sixty-four others. It was a technicality. A simple happening. 

Damian was starfished on the floor, his arms and legs spread, his eyes fixed on the cream ceiling. Alfred the cat was exploring Damian's chest, a little bigger and heavier than when he first got him, but still small. His tiny paws digging in an almost ticklish manner into his stomach. Damian would have smiled if he didn't feel so inexplicably _sad_. 

Someone knocked, and the door was pushed open.

"Damian?" Grayson called. "Are you in here?"

Damian scowled, emotions fighting in his chest. "Yes, Grayson, I am," he said, sitting up, Alfred mewling indignantly. "Do you need something?"

Dick's head was poking through the door, eyes wide and lips forming the ghost of a smile. "Uh... yeah, I need you."

"For what?"

Grayson looked at him imploringly. "Just come? I really need you to come with me."

Damian rolled his eyes, but got up. "I have nothing to do. I might as well waste my time."

Grayson smiled. "Trust me, it won't be a waste of time."

That earned him another eyeroll and a sigh, but Damian still followed him down the hall and down the grand staircase, towards the living room with the large television screen. What could Grayson possibly need him for? He pushed the door open, and everyone surged forward, all shouting an elated "happy birthday!"

Damian stood in the doorway watching the multicolored balloons, the table covered with all snacks imaginable, with the two birthday cakes with two candles stuck in each, a one and a three, the small pile of presents.

"What is this?" he asked, more incredulous than angry.

He wanted to feel angry, but the feeling would not come forward.

"You _are_ thirteen today, right?" Drake asked. "Please tell me we didn't get the wrong day."

Damian blinked. "I am thirteen, yes. But--"

"Happy birthday, Lil' D!" Grayson shouted, grinning broadly. 

Damian frowned. "I don't--"

"He's malfunctioning," Todd said jokingly. "Maybe steam'll start pouring out of him."

Father stepped forward, and Damian flinched slightly. If he noticed, he spoke nothing of it.

"We wanted to celebrate your birthday," he said, placing a warm hand on his thin shoulder. "Everyone wanted to throw you a party."

Damian looked around, even Todd and Drake seemed genuinely happy and relaxed. "Oh."

"Okay, that's enough of the robot malfunctioning," Todd said impatiently, shoving Damian towards the table. "We have food and cake and presents. I'm hungry, dammit."

There were a few laughs, and everyone unfroze, the tension absent despite the whole family being in one room at the same time, and they seemed to genuinely enjoy each other's company when they had nothing to argue over. They all took seats on the couches and armchairs, Cain opting for the floor, leaning her back against a couch while Drake sat on the armrest of a couch. Damian sat between Todd and Thomas, hands folded neatly on his lap, as Pennyworth set to light the candles. One was a neat cake, with blue frosting and silver sprinkles, the other was a tiramisu, which Damian remembered sharing to Grayson was his favorite cake. 

The candles had been lit, and Damian had been pressured to blow them out and make two wishes. He found it ridiculous, but gave into their pleading and blew the candles.

"What did you wish for?" Thomas asked, almost immediately.

Babs slapped his arm. "Don't ask that! Or it's never gonna come true!"

Damian shrugged. "A puppy," he replied, not telling them his second wish. It was one he was going to keep to himself. 

Pennyworth and Grayson were cutting the cakes, the conversation taking off easily, music playing softly in the background-- it was at the right volume that it was not noticeable until you paused to listen. Damian listened to the others chat brightly and felt almost at ease. Before something flat slapped him in the face and he reeled backwards into the couch.

"Jason, what the hell?" Drake snapped.

Todd laughed in reply. "Presents time! I want him to open my gift!"

Damian scowled. "I do not understand the concept of delivering gifts on birthdays, when I did nothing to deserve them."

Jason shrugged, reaching for a handful of Skittles. "You were born. Ain't that enough?"

Damian shrugged helplessly.

Jason scowled. "Just open them, Demon."

Damian opened Todd's gift to find a pillowcase with 'Demon Brat' hand sewn into it. He scowled up at him only to see Todd grinning wickedly.

"I see this amuses you," Damian said flatly.

"I mean, I also got you this."

Damian reluctantly accepted the gift, unwrapping it and observing the novel, a simple black volume entitled Good Omens. He turned it around, observing it.

"If you don't like it, just say it." Todd crossed his arms. "It's a good book."

"I said nothing," Damian replied. "I am not familiar with it."

Todd shrugged. "Figured."

He sat back down and accepted a slice from Grayson.

"Jason made the tiramisu," Grayson told Damian with a wink. "I made the blue one."

"Which automatically makes it inferior," Todd said brightly.

Grayson rolled his eyes and huffed, but obviously not taking the words to heart.

"I got you something special," he said, reaching for a small bag among the others and handing it to Damian. "I saw you, uh... drawing the other day, and I just thought--"

Grayson trailed off and Damian hesitantly reached into the bag and pulled out a sketchbook and a whole set of colored pencils. 

"Grayson," Damian said, brushing the gifts with trembling fingers. "I did nothing to deserve these. Why--"

Thomas placed his hand on Damian's thigh and he looked up into Thomas's wide brown eyes.

"We care about you, Damian," he said truthfully. "It's why we give you presents and celebrate your birthday. When someone cares about you, they want to show you they care. They tell you "I love you", hug you, give you things you like. We care about you."

Damian's throat was closing up. "We're-- you care about me?"

Thomas's eyes became sad. "Yes! Damian, you know that, right?"

Damian said nothing, and Thomas wrapped him in a crushing hug. Damian closed his eyes and let the warmth embrace him. Thomas let go only when Damian started to push him off, and the others gave him their gifts, one being a mug made specially by Drake, because they all had their own handmade Drake cup and Damian needed one too.

"So we should definitely watch a movie, right?" Brown asked, sliding from her armchair onto the ground, her limbs flailing, Cain laughing at her.

"Doubt it'll be hard," Todd said. "Pretty sure all the kid's watched is old black and white movies or The Addams Family."

Damian shook his head. "I have never heard of it. We did not watch many movies." Or any at all, but there was no need to mention that.

They all looked horrified. 

"You've never watched The Addams Family?" Todd asked, horror coloring his voice.

Damian scowled, uncomfortable. "I already told you I had not. Do not patronize me."

Todd opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it again. "Dude, forget patronizing. This is _The Addams Family._ You can't just go through life not having watched it."

"Todd--" Damian's voice was dangerously low.

"We are watching the Addams Family! That's it! The League can absolutely go fuck themselves. This is a literal crime against humanity."

In the end, they watched all three movies, all of them sprawled onto the furniture, with Pennyworth in an armchair, Cain and Brown on the floor, Thomas and Drake leaning against Bruce, Todd sprawled in an armchair and Grayson with his arm around Damian's shoulders. Damian let himself relax and thought that maybe he really was safe here and the League would not be able to harm him anymore.

Damian smiled and leaned into Grayson's warmth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, so since i can’t remember if we were ever confirmed Damian’s birthday, i have decided it would be october 31 bc it felt fitting.


	6. I Breathe Disaster

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if it wasn't already obvious, i'm taking whatever i want from canon and ignoring the rest

"Where are you going?" Damian asked, staring at Grayson from where he sat on the stairs, Alfred sitting in his lap peacefully.

Grayson startled and turned around. "Jesus!" He placed a hand over his heart. "Stop scaring people like that!"

"I did not scare you. I was merely sitting here, and asking you a question."

Grayson stared him down, hesitating between lying to Damian and telling him the truth, Damian figured. He leaned back until his back hit the wooden step and crossed his arms. Grayson nervously tucked the car keys into his pocket.

"Your therapy appointment is today, is it not?" Damian asked.

"It is. Do you need me to get something for you--?"

"I want to get out," Damian said, cutting Grayson off.

Grayson closed his mouth. Opened it. Closed it again. Damian exhaled harshly through his nose and set Alfred on the step and walked down the stairs, past Grayson and to the door.

"Well?" he asked, turning back to him. "Are you coming?"

"The appointment is fifty minutes," Grayson argued. "And your mother specifically said that you couldn't go out unsupervised."

Damian bristled. "I have been kept in this manor for three weeks. Either you agree to take me with you, or I will leave by myself."

Damian did not wait for a reply, simply walked out the front door and down the stone steps, the gold Chevrolet gleaming in the cold sun. He knew Grayson would reprimand him for not wearing a jacket over his thin long sleeved shirt, but Damian was used to harsh climates. He could stand extreme temperatures easily and for extended periods of time. Forty degrees Fahrenheit and wind would have little effect on him.

Damian had grown up in the desert. The weather there was always extreme, and always dry. Under the summer sun, the sand and cracked dirt were scorching, heat waves shimmered, blurring the blue mountains farther ahead, the air itself seemed to hiss with steam. At night, the temperature could fall below zero, and plenty of dangerous animals roamed freely. During the winter, the air was so dry your hands and lips would crack, and your lungs burned from breathing cold dry air. The winter nights much more unforgiving and harsh than summer nights. Damian had been forced on multiple occasions to survive numerous nights and days out in the desert, to acclimatize his body to harsh climates.

Gotham was different. The air smelled like salt, stronger when you got close to the harbor, mixing unpleasantly with rotting seaweed, with strong winds blowing from the sea, bringing a deep cold, so unlike the one in the desert. It was a damp cold, his lungs and throat didn't feel like he was breathing in sandpaper.

Grayson was bundled up in a heavy coat with a scarf tight around his neck. "You should put on a jacket."

Damian simply stared blankly. "I grew up in the desert. I have been taught to survive harsh weather. This is nothing, Grayson. You do not need to tell me what I should or should not do."

Grayson pursed his lips, an argument on the tip on his tongue, but swallowed it back and opened the driver's door. "All right. Get in, then."

Damian pulled open the passenger door and climbed in and Grayson started the car. Cold air blew from the vents directly in Damian's face and he flipped the slats shut. The air gradually grew warmer as the car heated up.

"You and Thomas see a therapist," Damian began, sure Grayson would remain sitting there in tense silence. "Why not the others?"

Grayson shrugged. "I honestly don't know," he answered. "She's a friend of doctor Leslie Thompkins, an old, uh... family friend of Bruce. They know our secret identity, so technically, we could all go see her for weekly therapy, but--"

Grayson shrugged helplessly. The last time Damian had been in a car, it had driven him from the airport to the manor. He had seen most of Gotham, though late at night, and he had not left the manor since. He knew his father was working out the paperwork before announcing his biological son to the world, half of the reason behind his father's insistence that he stayed home.

"Then you must not have been convincing enough," Damian said. "They could all use someone to show you how stupid all of you are being towards each other." He sneered a little. "But she must not be doing a good job if you still cannot resolve your spat with Father."

Grayson turned to him, his eyes flinty. "Hey! Don't-- don't talk about Chessy like that. My argument with Bruce is..."

Grayson floundered, searching for the word.

"Complicated. Yes, I know."

Grayson scowled at him before looking back at the road.

"Does Bruce know you're here?" 

"Tch, of course not. He would rather I stay at the manor and do nothing but watch you all bicker all day."

Grayson rolled his eyes. "Figured." He took a hand off the steering wheel when he pulled to a stop at a red light and pulled out his phone. "Here." He unlocked the phone and handed it to Damian. "Can you text Wally to come to the clinic? I'm sure he'll find a way to keep you entertained, and he's also the least likely person you'll antagonize to the point where they kill you."

Damian scowled, but opened the messages. Wally was the most recent contact, and Damian had heard enough to know that he was Grayson's boyfriend, and a metahuman. The Flash, previously Kid Flash, and his files on the Batcomputer were easy to find, giving Damian the background on him and Grayson he needed. 

"West seems immature, at best," Damian said. "I think you should call someone I can guarantee _I_ will not kill."

"I doubt there's a single person you _wouldn't_ kill if they annoyed you enough," Grayson fired back.

Damian huffed, but texted West nonetheless.

_Your boyfriend told me to text you to come to the clinic to babysit me._

The reply was almost instantaneous.

_Damian?_

Damian scowled. "You talked to him about me?"

Grayson cast him a sideways looked. "I tell him everything," he said in a tone that sounded like that was obvious.

"Do not patronize me," he said tersely.

_Yes. Come to the clinic._

_ok omw ill be there in 10 mins_

"He will be there in ten minutes," he said.

Grayson scoffed endearingly. "Of course he'll be there in _ten_ minutes."

There was silence in the car. Damian was still holding Grayson's phone in his hands.

"Why don't you text Bruce and tell him where you are?" Grayson suggested, a little after the silence had stretched to almost uncomfortable. "He'll go out of his mind if he can't find you."

He opened his father's contact in Grayson's phone.

_I have gone out with Grayson. Do not come after me._

He did not bother telling him they were going to his therapist appointment, Father knew. And he did not bother telling him how long he would be out, though Damian sure hoped it would be the rest of the afternoon, or a few hours at the very least. He turned the phone off and let it drop in the cupholder. He rested his head against the headrest and gazed out the window, watching the grimy houses and spray painted storefronts of Crime Alley, past the Bowery. Damian noticed Grayson's white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel right up until they were halfway across the bridge. Damian gazed at the ocean, a very deep azure blue under the sun, shifting to liquid mercury with each wave, a never-ending rise and fall of silver and blue. Grayson's therapy clinic was not far from the bridge, still among smaller stores, not yet the towering skyscrapers Damian could see in the near distance.

Grayson turned the car off and opened the door, a cold waft of salty air rushing in and making Damian shiver involuntarily. Damian lost no time climbing out of the car and followed Grayson in. The building itself was rather unassuming, just three stories of red bricks and blue windows, with Stone Meadows Clinic in white letters hanging just above the glass doors and under the first floor windows. 

Damian was expecting a place similar to a hospital, with colorless linoleum and white walls, uncomfortable chairs and doctors and nurses walking and ignoring people sitting in the waiting room. What he was not expecting was hardwood floors, a waiting room filled with leather couches and armchairs, swirling carpets under a coffee table piled with card games and magazines. He blinked away his confusing and took a seat in an armchair where Grayson sat on a couch. The receptionist smiled warmly and waved at Grayson, who waved back.

Half a minute later, someone ran in and skidded to a halt in front of them. His flaming red hair and grinning face splitting his freckled were a dead giveaway. Wallace West. Damian was not much impressed.

"Wally!" Grayson stood up and hugged his boyfriend tightly.

West pulled away and gave Grayson a quick kiss.

"Hey, babe." He smiled, before turning his attention to Damian.

His green eyes-- disturbingly similar to his mother's-- looked Damian over with surprise.

"Wow, you look just like Bruce," West said, shaking off his surprise and grinning.

Damian scoffed. "Not so similar. He is Caucasian." And has blue eyes. Damian's eyes are green. Green like his mother's. 

West and Grayson sat down, their hands linked loosely.

"Well, let me just tell you that I'm glad to finally meet the feral, sword wielding child Dick's been telling me about." West grinned, and like Grayson's seemed like such a genuine grin it infuriated Damian.

"It is not a _sword_ ," Damian hissed. "It is a katana. There is a distinct difference, Grayson. And I have two."

Grayson blinked. "T-two?"

Damian smiled dangerously. "Yes. Two."

"Damn, Dick. You really weren't kidding. He definitely looks like he's gonna kill me in my sleep."

Despite that statement, West did not look the least bit put off or wary of him, and Damian had no idea what to make of that. It made West a naïve fool, he decided, but still appreciated not being treated with kid-gloves. Maybe Grayson's boyfriend would be a bearable enough presence.

"Dick!" a woman's voice called, and Damian's head snapped towards it automatically.

A woman-- in her mid-thirties if Damian had to place her-- was walking towards them, smiling brightly. Her brown hair swept across her shoulders, her dark eyes smiling. She was wearing a red floral dress and a black leather jacket, which struck Damian as odd inside a medical clinic. She was not what he had expected. Grayson's face broke in a wide grin.

"Chessy!" he exclaimed.

She reached her arms slowly, making sure Grayson saw her move, and wrapped him in a quick side hug.

"Wally!" she said to West. "It's always a pleasure to see you again." She focused on Damian, still smiling. "And this must be Damian, right? The newest family addition."

Grayson stood behind her. "That's him. He's a little... odd. I apologize for his attitude in advance."

Grayson's therapist laughed. "Dick, I'm a therapist. Half of my clients are bad guys, or ex-bad guys." She extended her hand to Damian, who glared at it and crossed his arms over his chest. "Good afternoon, Damian. I'm Alexandria Chesterton, but you can just call me Chessy."

"Alexandria," Damian repeated, his arms tightening, and Chesterton withdrew her arm. "Like the city."

She smiled. "Yep."

Damian had not liked Alexandria. He had been excited to go there at first, and the first few days there were fine. It was still early in their run, and they were not used to the constant moving. No, at first they had expected to fly somewhere, change their identities and live out their lives under false names, undetected. They had miscalculated. Damian and Talia had stayed in Alexandria the longest, almost a whole year. Their neighbor, Hasina, a single mother of two boys, one around Damian and the other still a toddler, were friendly to them. And a friendship between Hasina and Talia had quickly formed. Damian took a longer while to get used to her son, Bakari. 

It had all come crashing down when Ra's found them. He killed Hasina and her toddler, had injured Talia enough that Damian had been scared half to death she would die. There had been so much blood. His shaking hands were coated in the blood of three people. He had tried to take his friend with him. Pleaded, even. But Damian had to run with Talia, and Bakari refused to leave his mother's side. Damian had watched Ra's plunge a sword in his chest. He'd watched his best friend fall soundlessly on the floor, a black pool of blood growing around him. 

After that, they never stayed somewhere longer than half a year, they never talked to anyone, and Talia grew colder, more distant. Damian too, he supposed.

"And Chesterton like G.K. Chesterton," Chesterton went on, still smiling sweetly, snapping Damian back to her. "Jason told me when he visited. I do hope he comes back. He talks a lot about his studies."

Grayson snorted. "I doubt it, but I can keep asking."

Chesterton shook her head. "No. He has my number already."

Grayson seemed surprised, but Chesterton only smiled. 

"Are you two going to be waiting here for Dick?" she asked.

Wally nodded. "Yeah. I'll be here with Damian."

Chesterton smiled again, at Damian and Wally. "See you boys in an hour."

With that, Grayson and her walked away, turning down a hall and out of view. Damian scowled, pressing his back into his chair, his skin crawling, and it had nothing to do with Chesterton's first name. He rubbed his arms viciously, forcing the feeling away. She smiled so much, and it unnerved Damian. It was the same feeling around West, so much happiness, so many smiles, to Damian no matter how genuine they were, they felt like lies to him. 

"You wanna play Blackjack?" West asked.

Damian looked over to see him waving a used pack of playing cards, sitting cross legged on the mustard yellow and burnt orange carpet under the coffee table. 

He raised a skeptic eyebrow. "You know how to play?"

West grimaced. "Why do people keep asking me that? Hell yeah, I do. I'm a pro."

"I would have taken you as someone most acquainted with Go Fish, or another childish game of the sort."

West shrugged indifferently. "I'm pretty good at a lot of card games, so sure."

Damian raised an eyebrow and did not move. Despite this, West pulled out the cards from the little box and began shuffling them. Damian stared at West for a while, watching him start building a house of cards, his light eyebrows furrowed in deep concentration. The silence that reigned was surprisingly light.

_I tell him everything._

"Do you know why Grayson comes here?" he asked.

West had been humming under his breath. He stopped and looked up, the two cards he'd just folded collapsing.

"Yes," he said after a pause. "It's-it's more than just _one_ reason, but yeah, I-I do. Know why, I mean."

"Does he tell you what they talk about?"

West frowned and Damian could have sworn a spark sizzled from his fingertips.

"No," he said evenly, the look slowly melting away. "It's between him and Chessy. And I trust him to tell me whatever he needs to tell me. If you're asking if you can ask Dick about his session, please don't."

Damian clenched his teeth tight enough he felt them creak. "I was no going to ask him anything, you blundering poltroon."

He glared at West for half a second before the former threw his head back and laughed, surprising the man who walked inside, probably for his own session. 

"What?" 

Wally swallowed back his laughter with difficulty. "I swear I'm not laughing at you," he said. "I just-- what the _hell_ does 'poltroon' mean?"

Damian's mouth opened, but nothing came out. He half wanted to snap at the man for being childish and immature, but then again he wasn't getting angry at Damian and instead laughed it off. Which meant this was the furthest Damian had gotten through a conversation after insulting someone before they threw an insult back at him and they started bickering. It was oddly refreshing. Damian hated this family. Not his. Never his.

He reluctantly slid off the armchair and knelt on the carpet, his nose wrinkling. 

"Do you truly know how to play Blackjack?" Damian asked.

West's entire face lit up like a Christmas tree. "Yeah!" 

He gathered all the cards back in the deck and shuffled them again before giving them both two cards.

"Get ready to lose, tiny assassin," West said, wagging his eyebrows.

Damian felt his mouth curve up in a smirk. "I will not be the one losing, West."

When Grayson and Chesterton came back, fifty minutes later, Damian and West had finished their second round and were building more house of cards. West had started talking about everything and nothing while Damian half listened, stacking his cards taller and taller while West's kept collapsing. Damian may have lost the two games, but he sure was winning the card house competition.

"It seems you two found a way to entertain yourselves," Grayson said, a note of amusement in his voice behind the weariness.

Damian glanced over. Grayson sounded, and definitely looked exhausted, but satisfied. No, not exactly, Damian had to say it was more akin to relief. Chesterton was not smiling, but there was the slightest hint, just the barest shadow of a smile playing on her face, like a picture taken of someone the second before they smiled. He scowled, the feeling of uneasiness coming back again. 

More people had come in, some seated in armchairs and playing on their phones or reading a magazine. A few were with people. Most were alone. There was a din of chatter that had not been there before, and it irritated Damian.

Grayson reached to hug Chesterton warmly.

"See you Friday with Duke?" she asked softly.

Grayson gave a single nod. "Yeah."

Damian had been standing up-- he'd needed to when stacking the fifth level of his card house-- and West was still sitting on the floor, though he was now scooping the cards and stacking them to fit them into their tiny cardboard box. 

"Ready to go?" Grayson asked once Chesterton had left with her next patient.

West set the cards on the table and stood up. "Yep!"

The three walked back out in the late autumn chill. "You hitching a ride?" 

"Babe, you know I can't stay away from Jason's orange-chili chocolate cookies. You know they're my weak spot. Of _course_ I'm hitching a ride to the manor."

Damian sighed, but followed them to the car, silently taking the hint and climbing in the back seat. The first few minutes of the ride back to the manor were silent save for the hushed words whispered by West and Grayson. Damian could hear them, which was why he thought the attempted whispering was entirely useless and a little insulting, but ignored it in favor for staring out the window, his forehead pressed to the cool glass.

Grayson cleared his throat and Damian lifted his head from the window and sat up straight.

"Hey, uh, Damian," Grayson started nervously, lithe fingers drumming on the steering wheel. "Wally and I were planning on going to Haly's Circus tomorrow, and we wanted to know if you wanted to come?"

Damian stared at Grayson's back. Haly's Circus. Grayson's home for the first nine years of his life. A misunderstanding with a gang. Tampered equipment. A very hard fall. He knew the details. He'd read Grayson's file, newspapers, police reports, autopsies.

"Why?"

Grayson seemed taken aback. The fingers stopped drumming. Damian wondered briefly if it was because Grayson had not been expecting an answer, or if he'd been expecting a simple 'no'.

"I want to hang out with you." Grayson's eyes flickered to the rearview mirror and Damian fixed his eyes on the road beyond the windshield. "And Wally wants to get to know you better."

Damian scoffed. He was the only one to know and to accept the fact that Damian was a temporary problem. They would soon be rid of him, and him of them. It did not matter if they knew each other or not.

An idea tickled the back of his mind. He was not permanent, but the others were. If they had wanted to leave, they would have. Todd could have started a new life and instead had come back. There was nothing worth creating between Damian and the others, but there _was_ something worth salvaging between his father's children.

"Only if Todd and Drake can come with us," Damian said. 

He could deal with Brown and Cain later, and Thomas was an entirely different situation. The biggest issue to work through was the Todd and Drake business. And Grayson and Father's. They would never be the perfect team if they could not work together, or even talk to each other.

Grayson exchanged a nervous look with West, who shrugged helplessly. 

"It could be a nice bonding experience," West tried. "Right? It doesn't have to end in bloodshed."

Grayson shook his head, clearly of the opposite opinion, but said nothing. 

"I'll ask them," he told Damian instead. "I don't guarantee they'll say yes."

Damian said nothing. They were going to say yes. 

* * *

A few hours later found Dick in his gym in one of the rooms on the first floor. It wasn't technically his, but it was the one Bruce had converted into a gym for Dick when he was ten, with all the equipment he used to train back at Haly's. When Bruce got Jason, and then Tim, and Steph and all the others, Dick had showed them his gym, a converted ballroom with mats covering the floor, common gymnastics training equipment and equipment he and his parents would often use. The others didn't use it much, Tim had used it the most often, and Dick had decided they could train together.

Now, Dick usually came here when he needed to unwind. When there was a knot of stress in his shoulders or in his chest or a pressure behind his eyes that he couldn't rid himself of. He always came here after therapy. Talking to Chessy and having someone tell him it was perfectly okay to react the way he did helped immensely, but he found that spilling his heart and trauma for fifty minutes was more draining than patrol.

Which was why he'd left Wally and Damian in the kitchen and he'd made a beeline for the gym to lose himself in moves that were as natural to him as breathing. On particularly rough days, working on a balance beam or swinging from an aerial hoop helped him through flashbacks and panic attacks. It felt almost as if his parents were here to help him through them, with soothing words and comforting hugs.

Dick was currently trying to walk across a tightrope on his hands. He'd spent more than forty five minutes working out, stretching, and walking around on his hands. He could walk across a tightrope and a slack rope without a hitch, and decided to challenge himself by trying to do the same but on his hands. He'd seen his mother do it a couple of times for practice, or just because she'd been dared to do it. She had always been able to reach the other end of the rope easily.

Now, Dick was about halfway through, and his arms shook a little from the strain. Wally had complained for years about his dry and irritated hands when they went on missions together and had to patch each other up afterwards. Wally usually complained that Dick should use some freaking moisturizer every once in a while because he was using up the antiseptic, and Dick would drily reply that he was an acrobat. 

_His mother's hand brushed his hair out of his face. "Another memory,_ ves'tacha _?" she asked in her soft voice. "I love you no matter what you will go through," she said, smiling. "Your father, too. There is no version of you we will not love with all our hearts."_

Rivulets of sweat dripped down his temple and into his eyes. 

_"I'm so proud of you,_ chavo _," his father's deep voice rumbled. "After all you've been through, you're still here. You're still standing. We are proud you're our son. If you could just look around and see all the people you've inspired with your unwavering strength."_

Another tentative inch forward, the taut rope shaking, Dick's arms burning.

_"You shouldn't have to be strong all the time. Sometimes, it's okay to let people see your cracks. They will not walk out of your life. Chessy saw all the ugly and still helped you. Wally saw all the ugly and still loves you. The ugly doesn't make the beautiful go away." Dick felt his mother's hand on his cheek, and he could imagine the warmth, far away in his mind, but if he focused, it only felt like empty air, like there was nothing there at all._

Doing things that required effort like this helped Dick get out of his head, and forced him to focus on something else. It helped.

_"There is no strength in keeping your pain to yourself and never sharing it. Sharing pain is letting someone hold a burden that is too much for a single person to hold alone," his father's voice said calmly. He never raised his voice. Dick got his cool head from his father, but his anger from his mother. She never let anyone speak wrong about her family. "Letting your pain destroy you because you fear being a burden to someone else is a foolish endeavor. If people seek to help you, why do you believe you are not worth helping?"_

Another inch and Dick swayed. He grit his teeth. This was the farthest he'd gone without falling, and he was so close to making it. Just a little over a foot to go and then he could swing back upright. He felt the blood rushing to his face, his body out of breath.

_"You're almost there," his mother said, proudly. "I wanted to teach it to you myself, when you were old enough. We could have presented it during a show. Your father never could walk on his hands for long, unfortunately."_

Dick finally made it to the other end of the rope and let his legs swing back down onto the mat and stood upright. the blood rush made him stagger and land heavily on the mat. He sat there staring at his hands, white and dry with the liquid chalk he'd smeared all over them, and red with the faint imprints of the braided cable on his palms. He felt proud, sitting there in his gym, all alone, having accomplished something he'd been trying to do for months. He grinned to himself as he waited to catch his breath and for his legs to stop feeling like they were made of jelly. He knew for a fact that Wally would save him some of Jason's cookies, and he'd tell his wonderful boyfriend his newest achievement. 

The tension in his chest and the dark cloud that had been hanging over his head since he left the clinic were finally gone, and he felt elated and light as air.

* * *

Dick and Wally had wanted to leave in the morning, so they could spent mid-morning and all afternoon at Haly's, which already informed Tim of just how much time he would be spending with Jason. Unfortunate, he had planned a dinner-date with Kon for next weekend. But the kid did have a point, the two would need to get along if they were to work together, and Tim hated to see the impact of his _issues_ with Jason on the rest of his family. So Tim had sucked it up and had gone to bed. Of course, _that_ hadn't stuck, but that was old news. 

The next morning, however, he found he barely had the energy to draw himself out of bed, which meant it was one of the _bad_ days. Not one of the worst, as he had still managed to get out of bed and take a quick shower and get dressed before heading down to breakfast, but definitely a bad one. And a bad day on top of chronic insomnia on top of spending the whole day with Jason, the one person who wanted to murder him in a more painful way than every villain in Gotham, sure sounded like a load of fun. 

Haly didn't often come to Gotham. They mostly toured in Europe, but every time the circus came to America, they always stopped in Gotham just for Dick. Everyone at Haly's knew Dick, and had met him at one point or another. For a lot of people, he was the Graysons' son who occasionally visited, but for the ones who had known Dick as that eight year old mini acrobat running around the tents, he was family. 

The circus had set up just outside of Gotham, so the drive would be a little over an hour. Tim had sat directly behind Dick's seat, Wally taking the passenger seat, Damian next to Tim, and Jason had crammed himself in the very back of the car, behind Damian to avoid any sort of interaction with Tim, which suited him perfectly fine. Jason had even brought his earbuds to avoid talking to anyone, and Dick and Wally were caught up in a discussion about something, which left Damian and Tim together. Tim had no energy to talk, so he simply turned his head and stared out the window. 

Going to Haly's wasn't so much an initiation ritual, but more of Dick really accepting Bruce's newest kid as his own, welcoming him into their dysfunctional family by showing them the most private and precious part of himself. It was really something, having Dick take them to Haly's and introducing them to everyone, receiving millions of hugs and warm pats on the back and free food or free tarot readings or backstage tours of circus rings.

The trips always amazed Tim. This had been Dick's life, his home. Haly's was an international circus-- few of the performers were American, and fewer spoke English as a first language. Dick had never spoken English fluently there, and only started speaking fluently when he moved in with Bruce, and Tim could still hear the faintest trace of his accent, the way he sometimes rounded words, or forgot words. It also explained how Dick knew literally ten other languages before turning ten, something not even Tim had done. He only knew seven.

And that was how the day went. They went to every stand, every tent, every vendor, every show, and Tim ordered enough kettle corn and cotton candy to make his stomach hurt and his insides buzz with energy. Tim would transcend his sleep deprivation, and that would be that.

Damian was excited, Tim could see it, despite the way he tried to hide it. Or maybe not hide, maybe the kid just had two modes: underwhelmed and feral. But he'd accepted the funnel cake Jason bought him and all the cotton candy Tim and Wally kept sneaking him whenever Dick and Jason had their backs turned, so the kid had to be in a semi good mood at least. And he complained, sure, but there was no real heat or bite behind the words, and Tim had been sure he'd caught him smile once or twice.

Dick and Wally had walked through the house of mirrors with their hands linked, to "keep from getting separated from each other" which was another way to say "we want to hold hands because we're in love", and it fooled no one. Tim appreciated the effort, though. And Tim actually felt like the whole thing might go without a hitch, for once. He'd even shared his fries with Jason and won him a stuffed bear at one of the stands.

It was almost four in the afternoon when the sun began to set and the air grew colder. The lights from the circus became the brightest source of light in the weak sunlight, illuminating it in multicolored lights that made the whole place more magical. Tim could truly understand the appeal to a circus life. 

Dick and Wally had stopped to talk about something, and neither seemed too happy. Tim was so focused on them he didn't notice that Jason had stopped and bumped into him, spilling his bag of kettle corn onto the trampled grass.

He backed away immediately, unfortunately unable to miss Jason's fist when it clipped his cheek, and Tim couldn't tell if it was Jason's reflex or just him wanting to punch Tim all the time. He careened sideways and crashed into Wally, sending the two stumbling.

"Sorry, Jason, I--" Tim started, trying to salvage the situation before it went all to hell. 

It was practically nothing, any normal person would have accepted the apology and let the thing drop, but Jason always found ways to snap at Tim, to jab cruel things. It didn't take long for Tim to do the same back, after months of trying to just talk to him, maybe trying to ease the clear hatred for Tim Jason carried. Tim was too stubborn to admit to anyone that he'd looked up to Jason's Robin, and he was too stubborn to admit just how much it had hurt when Jason came back with a newfound hate for Tim. 

"Jesus, is there anything you can do right?" Jason hissed, wiping corn and caramel dust off his jacket. 

"A lot of things, Jason," Tim snapped back. "Like run a company."

Not yet, but hey. He was getting there.

Jason rolled his eyes. "Yeah, the son of the founders of Drake Industries. Ought to go well."

Tim bared his teeth. "What the _hell_ did I do to you, Jason? Why the fuck do you hate me so much?"

_Why do you hate me more than Bruce?_

Jason's blue eyes-- a blue with green hues, practically turquoise-- seemed to flash electric green in the lights. 

"You want to do this now?" Jason asked, almost mocking, definitely taunting. "Here?"

"Clearly, since you can't be a normal fucking person and _talk_ about it. No, your way of talking is punching."

Wally stepped forward, laughing awkwardly. "Okay, you know what, I don't think this is the time to really--"

"Wally," Dick said softly, pulling his boyfriend away, and Tim felt rage bubble up and spill over.

"Drop it, Wally," he said lowly, his body shaking. "It's not like anyone really tried to stop Jason from hurting me before."

Dick _flinched_ , and Tim felt a terrible satisfaction curl in his gut. 

"Oh, so you're just gonna come after Dick, now?" Jason taunted. "I thought you wanted--"

Tim interrupted by launching himself at Jason and punching him in the face. The two fell on the ground, and Jason surged forward, grabbing Tim's arms and flipping them over, making sure to slam Tim hard onto the hard soil. Something fragile, a little crystal orb in Tim's chest, broke and released a flood of resentment and _hurt_. He writhed in Jason's iron grip, kicking his legs, and freeing a hand and curling it into a fist before driving in Jason's ribs. He rolled out and stood up.

"What the fuck did I do?" he screamed, not caring at this point who heard. "Just tell me what I did _wrong_ , Jason! I'm tired of not knowing why you came back and decided I was the enemy!"

Jason stood up, wiping blood from his nose, grinning, his eyes definitely glowing green. He laughed. "You know why," he said, still grinning. "A little boy just wanting to belong, to have a family. I know your story, Replacement. And then I died, and suddenly you had your chance! I'm really glad you took it. I always heard rich kids had no morals, anyway."

The words felt like knives to his heart. They hurt more than Tim would ever admit. He was shaking, still, but more with devastation than rage at this point. What was _wrong_ with him?

"Bruce was destroying himself, Jason! I wanted to help--"

"Oh cut the shit," Jason snapped, his voice sharp like the edge of a sword. "You _wanted_ to be-- you _wanted_ my spot. And you got it. Did that feel good? You had good times, I heard. Wormed your way right through. Everyone loved you more than me."

Tim felt a burning behind his eyes and a sharp pain in his chest. "No," he said, defeated. "They never did." The anger surged back again, warring with the grief. "They made _that_ obvious when you came back and started yelling at me and punching me and not a single one of them did a thing."

Dick flinched again, his face strained with sorrow, sagging against a distressed Wally. Damian had his arms crossed and a sour look on his face, and Tim hated starting a fight of this proportion in front of him. The satisfaction tasted bitter this time, the rage evaporating and grief and panic settling into his bones.

Jason simply laughed, cutting through the fog. "Oh, I am _so_ sorry," he said, something hard in his eyes. "Did that hurt your feelings? Were you expecting them to _protect_ you?"

"Jason!" Dick called brokenly. "Don't--don't say that. Tim, please."

"Leave," Tim said hoarsely. "Leave!" he screamed, backing away and stumbling into the back of a stand. 

They'd stopped in front of the back of two stands, and the few people walking by had quickly scurried away. They were near the edge of the circus. Tim turned and stumbled away, clutching his middle and kept pathetic wails from escaping his lips, ignoring Dick and Wally calling his name. Everyone always came to comfort him after an argument with Jason, even if they'd been standing right next to them when the fight had broken out. 

_"Why don't you just try to talk it out?"_ He'd tried, and Jason had kept hurling insults until Tim started doing the same.

 _"Why do you rise to the bait?"_ Because talking did not work, and the words hurt Tim. They hurt him, because no matter how tough his armor was, Jason always found the chinks, the things that just _hurt_. That hurt, and hurt and hurt.

Why couldn't _they_ stand up for him? Why-- why-- why-- 

Tim's brain lagged, repeating a broken "why" on loop, or maybe he was saying it out loud. He didn't know. Tim collapsed, unable to breathe, his chest constricting painfully, his sobs drawing out shallow heaves. There was gray at the edge of his vision and his thoughts slipped through his fingers like sand, unable to grab at anything. He was sinking in quicksand and he couldn't _breathe._

Green eyes floated in front of his blurry vision and Tim scrambled back, breath hitching.

"Jason, please. D-don't," he panted harshly.

"Your brain must really be malfunctioning if you believe I am Todd," a child's voice spoke, not Jason's deeper voice. 

"Da-Damian?" Tim asked, almost a whimper. 

The green eyes stared back. "Obviously, Drake."

Tim wanted to answer, but nothing came. His body was shaking like a leaf.

"I told Grayson to go back to the manor," Damian said calmly, still staring Tim in the eyes. "Who do I call to retrieve us?"

Tim breathed heavily, his fingers sluggish and slow.

"I-I--" He swallowed, his throat dry.

Damian reached for Tim's hand, holding his shaking hand in his steady one, and placed it over his heart.

"Do you feel that?" he asked steadily.

Steady. Steady. Heartbeat. Regular. Steady breaths. Okay. Okay.

Tim nodded.

"Good. Can you breathe like me?"

Tim choked on his first inhale, but his brain was calming down and his breathing became more regular. He was still shaking and he felt exhausted and weary, but his breathing was normal. Damian released his wrist.

"Who do we call to pick us up?" he asked immediately.

Tim swallowed. "C-Conner. He's in town f-for the week."

Damian leaned back on his heels, still kneeling in front of Tim. Tim pulled out his phone from his coat pocket and texted Kon to pick them up as soon as he could at Haly's Circus. He also made sure to tell him he would have to carry both him and Damian and that driving would be safer. Panic attacks and flying also were not a good mix, but that was not worth mentioning. It would only further worry Kon.

And then they waited. Damian had crossed his arms over his knees and rested his chin over them, deep in thought. Tim leaned back against the wooden pole behind him-- he'd made it to the very edge of the stands, out of sight of everyone, and practically out of earshot, with dim lights gleaming softly over Damian's dark hair and green eyes, making his hair lighter and his eyes shine vividly. 

"You didn't do anything," Tim said. He wasn't accusing him of anything,-- he was too tired to stand another argument either way-- it was a mere fact.

Damian's eyes stared into Tim's, unflinching. "No," he said. "Would you like me to do something next time?"

Tim had not expected that. The kid was candid, that was sure, but he had still not expected that question. He swallowed back a wave of fresh tears and felt his throat close up.

"Y-yeah," he choked out. "I'd really like that. Thank you."

Damian shrugged. "If no one else stops Todd, I might as well."

Tim let out a laugh, and it sounded slightly hysterical even to his ears. He choked it down with a cough.

"Hey," Tim said. "Uh... I'm sorry about that."

Damian raised his eyebrows. "I was raised by the League of Assassins, Drake. I trust you know they are worse than petty arguments."

Tim cringed. It had started over damn _kettle corn._

"Still. You shouldn't have had to see that."

"So you are saying it would have made it all right if I had not been around?"

Tim winced, even though Damian's tone remained neutral. 

"No. I mean-- maybe. You're new around here. It's-- It happens a lot. It sucks."

Tim waited for the 'then stop arguing' reasoning from Damian. In the back of his mind, he knew they were right. He was fueling a fire that definitely didn't need more fueling, but he'd tried everything, and he'd gotten angry, too, and no one else would do anything about it. Why shouldn't anger be his reaction at this point? They say that as if he hadn't spent _months_ trying to defuse every could-be argument with Jason until he couldn't anymore. 

"Did you want to replace Todd?" was the question instead.

"No!" Tim spluttered. "Of course not! I-- hell, I looked _up_ to Jason. He was my Robin. Not Dick. I was devastated when he died."

_And ecstatic when he came back. Until he tried to kill me._

"Does Todd know?"

The response died on Tim's tongue. No. No, Jason probably did not. Tim had tried to tell him, but Jason had been too busy trying to shoot him to listen. 

Damian nodded, Tim's silence confirmation enough. 

"Todd died, but what happened to you?" 

Tim frowned. "Nothing."

"Lies."

Everything. Everything had happened. Tim had lost _everything_. And then gotten everything back. Jason had died. His mother had died. Kon had died. Dick had left. Tim's father changed, and Tim had suffered the aftermath. Bruce had fired him, and no one had been there for him. No one. He'd _died_ and lost his spleen and no one had known. The League had saved him. Not Bruce, or Dick. And then Kon came back, and suddenly everything seemed to get better. Bruce and Dick had wanted him back. He had his best friend with him, and he found a sister and brother in Duke and Cass and even Harper and Cullen. And now he was in college, and he was on his way to be the future CEO of Wayne Enterprises.

By all definitions he should be ecstatic. Over the moon. Kon told him it was okay for him to not be okay. A lot had happened to him. A lot had been happening to him. Tim wished he could agree, but he didn't. Everything was better, and fine, so why couldn't he sleep? Why was he plagued with nightmares? Why did Jason hate him? Why were there days he couldn't get out of bed or stand his reflection and felt empty of anything?

He could-- he should-- tell Damian all of these things. Instead he said, "I know."

Kon landed heavily on the ground, startling Tim who swore colorfully, and Damian jumped into a defensive stance, pulling two throwing knives from who knew where. Kon ran a hand through his hair, sighing in visibly relief when he saw Tim. Tim noticed the idiot was only wearing a shirt and his leather jacket in the cold

"I couldn't find you so I flew around looking for you," he said matter-of-factly, worry highlighting his tone and features.

"Kon," Tim breathed in relief, struggling to his feet. "Thank God. Thank God."

He staggered to his boyfriend and collapsed into his arms, Conner looking absolutely confused by the scene before him. Damian made his knives disappear.

"I take it the fun day at the circus Dick and Wally planned didn't go well?" He cocked a dark eyebrow, blue eyes going from Damian to Tim.

Tim sighed. "Absolutely not," he muttered, exhausted. "It was Jason."

Kon smiled sardonically. "I'm really not surprised."

Tim closed his eyes and sagged into Conner's arms.

"I just wanna go home," he mumbled. 

"The car's waiting in the parking lot," Kon said reassuringly, picking Tim up bridal style. It was a show of how tired Tim was that he didn't even joke about it.

"You need us to drop you off at the manor, Damian?" Tim asked in a moment of clarity and remembering the kid was still here.

Damian gave a curt nod. "Yes. Drop me off on your way."

"Pleased to meet you, I'm Conner Kent," Tim heard Kon say, to Damian most likely, before letting himself sink into the folds of unconsciousness. He was so tired.

Tim slept all night. There were brief moments of lucidity, but Kon's arms around his waist pulled him back under quickly. He woke up late the next day with tears crusted in his eyes and a wet pillow. He wasn't even sure if it was morning or afternoon, but the sun was peeking in through a slit in the dark curtains, and Kon was missing. Tim wanted to get up and look for him, but had no energy and felt a happy pile of absolutely nothing. Yesterday had been a bad day. Today was worse day. He felt heavy, his bones made of cement and his organs pressing him deeper into the bed. He wanted Kon.

The door creaked open and feet padded in.

"Hey." Kon's smiling appeared in Tim's field of vision, eyes crinkling in worry. He sat down on the bed, brushing Tim's hair out of his face, his smile tugging into a sad line. "Tell me what you need," he said gently, rubbing his thumb in circles on Tim's cheek.

Tim hummed. "I don't know." He sighed, imagining a black smoke that filled his body and mind escaping into the air around him. "Nothing? But something?"

"Donuts and Monty Python?" Kon asked, one side of his lips quirking slightly.

Tim would have smiled back if he had the energy. "Donuts and Monty Python," he agreed.

"I'll be right back, then." Conner darted out of the room.

Yesterday, his professor had cancelled the only classes he had, and today Tim knew he would stay home. He wouldn't be able to leave his bed, much less attend class. He sighed, bundling his covers over his head, ignoring his buzzing phone on his nightstand and waited for Kon to come back. He'd be right as rain tomorrow. He smiled softly, a never-ending gratefulness for the most wonderful boyfriend in the entire world. He'd show up to the manor tomorrow and figure things out. Not right now. 

* * *

Damian had spent the entire day drawing. He had gone downstairs for breakfast and lunch and a couple of times to feed Alfred, but remained in his room to think and draw. Everyone was at school, Cain was somewhere in the house and Grayson was having boyfriend issues, something about West wanting to spend Thanksgiving with Grayson. Another useless complication in the hodgepodge of of complications that was the Wayne family.

Damian had drawn all of them. He'd drawn Drake, he'd drawn Todd, and he'd drawn Grayson and West holding hands and staring into each other's eyes with unabashed love and trust. He had drawn stands and colorful tents he'd visited yesterday. He was even using the colors Grayson had gotten him for his birthday for the first time. Figuring out the colors was tricky, but Damian was a quick learner.

He drew Todd, happy when he watched the fire eating and sword swallowing acts, furious with Drake when they'd argued, the confused guilt when he watched him stumble away. 

He drew Grayson leaning his head into the crook of West's neck, grabbing both Todd and Drake into side hugs, crumpled with grief at Drake's words.

He drew Drake smiling nervously at Todd while handing him the stuffed animal he'd won, handing out his cotton candy to Damian even after Grayson told him to stop giving him sugar, collapsed against that tent in grief.

He drew people who were even more of a mess than him. Whose lives were even more knotted and impossible to fix than his. He drew people with emotions he barely had a grasp of. They were tearing each other apart, that was clear. They lashed out in defense. They were all idiots and they were supposed to be saving Gotham, and yet none of them could save themselves on the daily. 

Damian had been right. The circus had not been a bad idea, but it would take a lot to really get them to work together again. Todd and Drake had not been _complete_ idiots to each other the entire night, and that was exactly why Damian knew there was still something salvageable in the wreckage that was Todd and Drake. 

Alfred purred in Damian's lap.

"I know," he said. "I'll get it right."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> damian, about bruce's kids: well if no one's gonna fix them i might as well do it myself
> 
> (also if i got any romani words here wrong, please don't be afraid to tell me. i tried my best, but i'm not familiar enough with the language, sorry)


	7. Ceaseless Mistakes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've become obsessed with the magnus archives.

Jason had felt guilty since the circus, three days ago. He'd felt guilty all day, throughout his classes and work. That, in turn, had made him feel angry.

It was Monday afternoon and both Roy and Kori were supposed to come to the manor to spend the night. After the fucking circus fiasco, Jason had stayed in his apartment with Kori and Roy, until Steph texted him to show his ugly face because the manor was feeling sad without his and Tim's yelling, which was honestly depressing. _That_ was how used everyone was to the arguing. He told Steph he'd drop by to spar with her. Jason needed his two mediators around to keep himself in check. 

He'd collapsed on Steph's bed the second he'd come back and had not moved since. He was no planning on moving at all, as Dick and Damian were in the house, as was Bruce, and he _really_ did not see a lecture or an assassination attempt making his day better. 

He knew the Replacement didn't deserve Jason's wrath. Maybe he'd deserved a little anger, but Jason had nothing to hold back against the kid. His parents were absent most of the year and he was a Batman and Robin fan for years, enough that the little genius figured out their identities. It made sense he'd come knocking at Bruce's door when Robin stopped showing up, and it made sense that Bruce saw a kid who didn't deserve absent parents and took him in.

Jason hated Tim. He hated him because Tim had everything Jason never got. Tim had been thirteen, a year or so older than Jason, and he'd become Robin _six months_ after Jason's death. Six months. 180 days give or take. And Tim had fit right in. When Jason had come back, everyone had just _loved_ Tim. Dick was hanging around him, unlike what he'd done with Jason. Dick was spending time around him where he'd been blatantly ignoring Jason when _he'd_ been Robin. So of course Jason had wanted to knock the kid around a bit, to rattle Batman, but also to flush out his anger for the kid. And yet, it seemed to have simply grown. 

Tim had gone to school. He'd finished high school and had been accepted into Gotham University and he was going to be the CEO of fucking Wayne Enterprises. And that had just hit something inside Jason that he still couldn't shake. It was the opportunity he'd never gotten.

Jason had been so excited to go to school and to learn every day instead of missing most days and not being able to complete assignments because he had to help his mother with money. Bruce had set aside a college fund for him. For college. Jason had never even _thought_ about going to college before. How could he when he had doubted he'd be able to make it through _middle school?_ He'd read every book the English teacher assigned, he'd excelled every assignment and test, and he'd even been in all AP classes before-- well, before he'd _died._

Yeah, Jason had been that crazy son of a bitch who liked going to school, but that was because unlike Dick, who'd been fucking homeschooled, and Tim, who was the fucking son of rich snobs, he never had the privilege of prioritizing school before. He'd been in ninth grade when the Joker killed him. He was twenty-one, now. He'd had to get a GED to go to college, because he'd died, and then trained with the League, and then hunted down Batman and Robin. And the new Robin, rich boy neighbor Timothy Jackson Drake, had been taken in by another rich dude and gotten to finish school and go to college. Jason was older than the Replacement and they were both freshman in college, and something about the whole thing just made Jason sick to his stomach with fury and hurt, and worst of all, _crushed hope_ . He'd let himself _dare_ to hope to finish school, and here he was, killed during his first year of high school and two years older than almost every student in his classes.

God, he wanted to kill the fucking Joker. He wanted to pound the Joker to death with his AP Human Geography textbook from ninth grade he'd never gotten to use. Jason smiled a little, imagining the headline already: "Joker beaten to death with a geography textbook by an angry man claiming the Joker killed him before he could graduate high school". It would be a Florida Man worthy headline.

Jason silently promised himself to lay off the Replacement for a while, avoid arguing. He'd even texted him to tell him he was swinging by. And he may or may not have told him to stay out of his way. Bruce and the joker deserved the anger, not Tim. But every time Jason saw Tim he saw everything he could never be, everything he _could have been_. And that hurt way more than Bruce not avenging him, or the Joker shattering bones with a crowbar. It felt like opening Pandora's box and letting hope flutter out.

Finally, Jason heard footsteps down the hall and the door swing open.

"Hey, Jay," Steph greeted, tossing her bag on the swivel chair at her desk and collapsing onto a beanbag, groaning.

Jason raised an eyebrow. "Anthropology?" he asked.

She groaned louder. "Fucking sucks. The current topic is the human fossil record."

Jason whistled. "Sounds fun."

Steph lifted her head to stare at Jason. "That's more than six million years, Jason. Six. Million." Her head dropped. "I'm gonna die."

Jason laughed. "Christ, you really picked the course that's gonna annihilate you before midterm."

"Human bones," Steph muttered weakly. 

"Don't forget!" Jason said in a bright voice. "You still have four more years to go!"

Jason's grin widened when Steph moaned. "I'm going to jump out my window."

"And break what? Your leg? We're on the first floor."

Steph rolled over, brushing strands of blond hair out of her face and curling in on herself. She pulled her jacket closer to herself and stilled. 

"Fuck you. I'm gonna sleep."

Jason rolled onto his stomach and pouted. "Aren't we gonna spar?"

"Yeah. When I start my research paper and get frustrated and give up and decide to take it out on you."

Jason hummed. "Always wondered where you get all that rage from. Good to know."

Steph mumbled something, an insult either directed at Jason or at human civilization, he didn't know. He rolled off the bed and made his way to the door, messing up her hair on the way.

"Night night, princess."

Steph snarled. "I will kill you and make it look like an accident."

Jason opened the door. "You can try. I flirted with death once and I _will_ do it again."

Steph groaned and picked up the nearest object off the floor, a stray highlighter, and tossed it at Jason, who simply ducked to avoid it. 

"Get out, death boy."

"I am. Sleep on your bed, idiot." With that, Jason shut her door and heard another object collide with it. He walked down the hall cackling.

There wasn't much to do while waiting for Kori and Roy, Jason found out. He could work on his assignments, as they were definitely starting to pile up the closer they got to Thanksgiving, but that wasn't fun, so of course not. Instead, he'd picked one of the quietest and least used living rooms, had grabbed a pint of chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream and plopped onto the velvet couch and decided to watch a Barbie movie because he was a twenty-one year old man and no one could tell him he couldn't.

Less than fifteen minutes in, Cass had wandered in, an oversized hoodie thrown over her training clothes, and settled against the other end of the couch, curling her legs into her chest and watching the movie. Jason had said nothing, as that was the crux of their relationship; they just hung around each other, they didn't spar together, or talk about their trauma. They talked about what Cass has been up to, or what Jason has been up to, or watched oversaturated Barbie movies with terribly bland dialogue together. There was a sort of mutual understanding between them, that they'd both been hurt and that neither of them liked it when people tried to pry out details from them, or get them to bond with the others. It wasn't how they worked, which was _why_ they worked so well. 

A lot came out of a relationship built on mutual understanding.

The winter sun was already beginning to set despite the still early hour and Jason's melted ice cream was sweating, the carton wet and malleable in his hands and the movie wasn't finished yet when Tim walked in, holding three white paper bags. Jason paused the movie and stared at Tim flatly as he tossed one of the bags at Cass, who caught it. Tim tossed the second bag at Jason, who caught it and scowled.

“The fuck is this, Replacement?” he asked.

“Wendy’s. I drove past 'em on the way home and thought you’d all want some.”

Jason and Tim glared at each other for a second before Jason’s tense posture relaxed. Tim was still watching with wary eyes from the doorjamb, arms crossed over his chest and his own bag clutched in his hands, but his glare softened into a neutral look.

“Okay, awesome. Did you get me chicken nuggets?” Jason opened the paper bag and peered inside.

Tim grinned. “Yep. The spicy ones your disgusting ass likes.”

Jason rolled his eyes at Tim’s retreating form. “Spicy chicken nuggets are wonderful, fuck you.”

 _Thank_ _you,_ Cass signed, already starting in on her bacon burger.

Tim smiled. "No problem, Cassie."

Jason sighed and set his ice cream on the coffee table, setting the warm paper bag in his lap and resuming the movie. The others knew better than to pick on him for rewatching Barbie movies ("so Disney cartoons are fine, but you draw the line at Barbie? Seriously? That's weak."), and Duke and Cass were always down for joining him every once in a while. Tim preferred "good quality animation" and Dick was more inclined towards comedies. Steph only watched action movies anyways, so that was out. 

Tim gingerly walked over and settled himself into an armchair, pulling his legs up and setting his bag over them, eyes fixed on the TV. Jason didn't think anything of Tim or Cass, just his chicken nuggets and Princess Anneliese and Julian escape the mineshaft and the comfortable atmosphere that reigned over the quiet living room.

Jason did enjoy moments like this, just existing with his siblings, and even the Replacement without arguing. It was nice and calming. When they managed to get past the whole "trying to kill each other" spiel, they could actually have really nice bonding moments.

It really came to no surprise that Jason and Kori were greeted with arguing when they approached the Batcave. The voices echoed off the metal hallway and bounced around and distinctly became identifiable as Damian's and Bruce's when they walked in through the open doors. That was the most surprising part, really. During all of Damian's stay so far, he'd only gotten briefly irritated with the others, never really arguing like this. The worst argument the little demon had was when he'd been arguing with Dick in the kitchen about whether he should be allowed to carry his swords with him (a solid “no” from Bruce and Dick and a resounding “yes" from Jason and Steph).

Jason and Kori were greeted with Bruce and Damian standing in the middle of the room, Bruce partially dressed in his Batman outfit and Damian clutching both of his katanas. The two paused at the door, not daring to interrupt.

"Your mother was clear," Bruce said calmly, though Jason saw his furrowed brow and stiff posture. Oh, they had been going at it for a _while._ "You're to be kept safe. Patrolling the streets of Gotham is the complete opposite of _safe._ "

"I can keep myself safe, _Father,_ " Damian argued. "I just want to go out with you! You cannot keep me locked in here like some ani--"

Jason and Kori exchanged looks, her green eyes amused. Jason was positively _delighted_ at the sight of tiny little thirteen year old Damian riling up Bruce like this less than a month after coming here. Even Jason had gotten on his nerves halfway through his second month despite his best efforts. Damian really was breaking all the records.

"Yes, I can, Damian," Bruce said firmly. "I am your father, and you are staying _here_ . Safe in the manor. That is _final_."

Bruce turned to walk away when Damian stabbed his sword into the floor and Jason winced. Great. Fifth time this week they had to fix a hole in the Batcave.

"Batman needs Robin! Let me be Robin! Let me be your partner!" there was something almost pleading in Damian's voice, which Jason found odd.

Jason scoffed, dragging both of their attentions to him and Kori standing in the entrance. Batman had _plenty_ of partners already. "And what are we, then?" he gestured at himself and the suits standing in their glass cases on Kori's left.

"Dead weight," Damian said without missing a beat.

Jason choked, unsure whether it was on a laugh or an outraged sound, and Kori slapped a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing.

"Father--" Damian was ready to go back to ignoring him, and Jason sobered immediately. Damian couldn't be Robin. Not again, not anymore.

"Bruce is right," Jason said in a voice that sounded dead even to himself. "I swear, that costume is fucking cursed. It gets you killed." 

Bruce stilled, head turned away. He'd been ready to put on his helmet. Good, Jason thought. Bruce _should_ feel guilty. For Dick, for Jason, for Tim, for Steph. He'd been alone in a warehouse, because Bruce had let him take up the fucking mask. And he hadn't even avenged him--

Jason hadn't noticed he'd been shaking until he felt Kori's warm hand rub his arm, either in warning or in reassurance he couldn't tell. Probably both. Damian was staring at him.

Jason sneered, but not at the brat. Not at Bruce. Maybe at Bruce. Maybe at himself. Maybe at both. "You're too young to make your own decisions no matter what you say," Jason said bitterly. "I was your age when I became Robin, and I was fifteen when I died. Trust me, you're not ready to make that decision."

There it was. Bruce flinched, and the satisfaction felt like a shot of adrenaline. Damian's scowl deepened. 

"I have been fighting worse people than Gotham villains for six years, I can handle--"

Jason laughed, and it sounded hollow and bitter. Kori's grip tightened. ""You can _handle it_ ?" he smiled widely, overly sweet at Damian. "No. You can't. Robin protects Batman, sure, but Robin gets _killed,_ Damian. Literally in my case, but Dick and Tim and Steph all lost something when they put on the costume."

"Jason, that is _enough_ ," Bruce snapped, hands twitching.

"Is it, _Batman?"_ Jason was still smiling, his smile widening. This felt _good_. 

Their soon-to-be argument was cut short by loud chatter from behind them. Jason took a step back to calm himself, Kori's fingers pressing into his arm and pulling him close.

"Jason, please." Her green eyes were sad, like they'd been when he'd told her and Roy his story, when he broke down every year on the anniversary of his death. It had taken Jason long to find out it wasn't pity. Kori knew pity wouldn't help Jason, or Roy. It didn't help anyone. And neither Roy nor Kori bothered Jason with pity, only a deep understanding.

Jason felt himself deflate, his anger helium in a balloon slowly hissing out into the air. "Sorry."

Her lips twisted in a humorless smile. It was just an upward curve. "Arguing won't change a thing."

Jason shrugged, casting a glance to the door when Duke and Harper walked in, their heads together and talking about something in hushed voices. Harper and Cullen seemed to appear out of thin air, one moment nowhere near the mansion, and the next sitting in the living room playing video games with another Wayne kid or sitting at one of the kitchen islands eating chips.

"It'll make me feel better," he said, his voice quieter.

Kori's smile became more genuine as she punched Jason's shoulder. 

"Ow, Kori!" he whined, rubbing his arm.

"You took your time," Kori told Dick, completely ignoring Jason.

Dick shrugged. "I was showing Duke and Harper some moves."

Jason's eyebrows shot him, his hand still clutching his arm. "Duke? Despite what happened last--"

Dick huffed through his nose, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling, the faintest pink dusting his cheeks. "Yes, Jason, despite what happened last time."

A smile slithered onto Jason's face. "Oh? How did it go? Smoothly, I hope."

"Yes, actually!" Duke called from behind Jason. He was sitting in an office chair and strapping on his armor over his suit. "It went great!"

Dick's wince was tell enough for Jason to assume that it did not, in fact, go great. Jason grinned.

"That's good. I would've hated missing another opportunity to film you falling on top of Dick."

Dick's face flushed bright red at that, much to Jason's delight. Duke rolled his eyes.

"It really wasn't that funny."

Tim snorted from where he was sitting on the floor, back against the wall, pulling on his boots. "Oh, yes, Duke. Yes it was."

Duke looked wounded. "Way to have my back, dude."

Tim laughed. "Not for this, Duke. This one's staying forever."

Duke grumbled and stood up, walking towards Bruce, who was near the weapons wall, filling up his utility belt with knives and Batarangs. The others were in various stages of suiting up. Jason pulled off his sweater-- it was November, and he was not going in a freezing underground cave wearing only a black muscle shirt and leggings-- and pulled his suit from where he'd dropped it on a chair earlier that day. Steph was still in her own black shirt and leggings, stretching, her suit tossed haphazardly on the floor besides her. Cass and Tim were fully suited up, missing only their masks and Duke was still working on the body armor.

Babs and Harper both sitting and chatting, so it seemed Harper would be staying here and probably help Babs-- Oracle-- out. Jason wondered where Cullen was. When Harper was at Wayne Manor, Cullen was never far behind. 

Kori and Roy were already fully outfitted with their weapons at the ready and were chatting idly, casting the occasional glance or smirk at Jason who was still suiting up. He replied by sticking his tongue out at them every time. 

The little demon was nowhere in sight, but Jason wasn't exactly worried. The manor-- hell, the freaking Batcave-- were fucking immense. Disappearing is the single, easiest thing to do here. Just to be sure, Jason glanced at the Robin suit where it hung, Tim's old suit, to make sure it was still undisturbed. It was, and Jason felt himself ease a little.

"Everyone ready?" Bruce asked, glancing around at all of them, in their costumes and fully equipped.

There was a cacophony of affirmations and Bruce pulled his cowl over his face and just like that, they were off into the frigid November evening and towards Gotham. Since Roy and Kori were joining tonight's patrol, Jason would stay with them as they swept Crime Alley-- Red Hood's turf. Well, Red Hood's, Starfire's and Arsenal's turf, really. But in all technicalities and discussions, it was Red Hood's. He struck fear in every wannabe bad guy in Crime Alley, because unlike Batman, he was unorthodox and was not one above killing true assholes who definitely deserved it. 

The drug case the Replacement and Bruce had been tracking for the past month had been found to deal in Crime Alley, and Jason had agreed to do a follow up on it. Which is what led them to a marine terminal in the first harbor-- Gotham had three different harbors, the one in Crime Alley untouched by all cargo and container ships and all passenger ships, which drove a lot of shipping businesses out of business, emptying warehouses and ports. 

Jason wasn't sure where Kori and Arsenal were-- they'd split up upon arriving at the padlocked chain link fence of one of the many marine terminals lining up the harbor to scope the place out. Jason was silently slinking between the rusted intermodal containers, keeping to shadows and straining his ear for any sound. He was completely silent and paused at any sound of footsteps against concrete. Tim had been fairly confident about his proof that the drug shipments were arriving through Crime Alley's harbors, so Jason decided that it was worth checking out even if he himself didn't really believe it. He would _know_ if drug deals were happening in Crime Alley. He would know and shut that shit down.

Jason couldn't see or hear anything, but he didn't relax his grip on his gun or the tension in his shoulders. Not until he'd gone through every crevice and openings in this terminal.

That was until the red flare popped and burst red through the sky, startling Jason into jumping into the nearest shadow and slamming his back against the uneven weathering steel of a container. He felt the chipped paint flake against his gloved hand and could just imagine the flakes that would stick to his jacket with dismay.

Once the flare vanished and the night became quiet, interrupted only by distant waves crashing against the walls of the port, Jason quietly and quickly ran over to the origin of the flare and the din of voices rose higher the closer he got. They were yelling and he heard the whooshing of arrows whizzing past and pained grunts when they hit their marks among gunshots and yelled insults. Arsenal.

He rounded the corner of the next container, not even bothering with hiding anymore, and saw figures clad in dark clothes fighting against a red and black figure darting from hiding place to hiding place, shooting arrows and ducking down to avoid getting hit.

Jason clicked the safety off his small gun and turned on his comm.

"Starfire!" he barked. "We need help here! Oracle, requesting backup!"

He fired a shot, taking down a man, and more seemed to appear. There must be at least fifty, maybe more. This was more than a simple deal or unloading of crates. This was what Jason assumed to either be a hiding place for the crates of drugs, or a meeting place. Either way, the scattered and tipped over wooden crates filled with square packets of reddish powder confirmed that this was the drug bust Tim and Bruce were working on.

Oracle was screaming in his ear, but he couldn't hear her well, or even pay her much attention when the men, who'd clearly been stunned by Arsenal's arrival, quickly got over their initial shock and pulled out machine guns and automatic rifles and started shooting them at him. Jason ducked behind a container, tossing his small gun to the side and slinging off his own assault rifle off his shoulder and started loading it. The sound of bullets piercing metal was deafening, drowning out whatever Babs was saying.

"I can’t hear you!” Jason bellowed. “I am being _shot at!_ Just fucking send people!"

He pushed himself off the wall, taking the time to pull out three smoke bombs from his belt and activating them before throwing them in the fray of battle with one hand, the other gripping his rifle precariously and shooting down the figures in the legs, arms, anywhere that would physically incapacitate them, not kill them.

Gray smoke was billowing around the wide space between two containers, swallowing up the figures, Jason and Roy while also muting the sound of gunfire, a fact for which Jason's ears were grateful. Now, the gunfire wasn't an incessant cacophony, more like staccato bursts coming from both the drug dealers and Jason, with the occasional hiss of an arrow slicing through the thick air.

Kori showed up, and even through the thick smoky fog, Jason could see her. She was literally on fire, and the artificial fog hissed and vanished when she landed. Her eyes were glowing vibrantly and her hair flowed around her shoulders-- a gradience of red and orange and yellow that moved like liquid lava. The cool November air warmed to a nice, mid September night.

"Starfire!" Jason yelled in warning.

They'd worked together long enough for them to be able to understand what the other was trying to convey without looking at them. The warning note in Jason's tone was enough for Starfire to turn around and see the bullet being fired at her. She dodged it and retaliated with an energy blast that hit a crate and made them explode, a few dealers screaming and getting tossed to the side. Starfire's body heat and energy blasts was burning through the fog quickly, and the gunfire started with renewed vigor, as did Jason's, who emptied an entire clip and reloaded his first gun and decided to use his second gun to cause more damage until the cavalry arrived.

It wasn't easy balancing two assault rifles under his arms and strained them both in rather uncomfortable ways, but he'd managed fine enough and wasn't going to stop now. Empty cartridges clinked to the floor and he saw more than a dozen snapped or bloody arrows laying on the ground or impaled in people or crates.

When the short figure ran into the fog, past Jason, and tossing a grenade at the dealers, Jason thought the cavalry had arrived. He'd assumed it was Cass at first, since she was the shortest. It registered a second later that Cass's suit was black and had a black cape. Her outfit wasn't red. She didn't wear green leggings or a yellow cape and belt. The moment he registered that, the realization hit him like a freight train. 

"Dam--Robin!" he yelled, jumping from his hiding spot and chasing after the human traffic light that was running towards the bad guys, both swords pulled out.

"Dammit, dammit, _dammit_ , you fucking idiot!" Jason screamed, watching Damian jump and take down two dealers, their guns clattering next to their lifeless bodies. 

Damian turned around, finally acknowledging Jason just as he stopped in front of him. His helmet kept Damian from seeing his face, thankfully, as the kid definitely didn't need to see Jason's eyes shine green with murderous rage.

"You were supposed to stay at the manor!" he fumed, gunning down two dealers, letting Kori and Arsenal deal with the others for a while. "I'm calling Oracle. You _cannot_ be here."

"No," Damian barked. "Do not tell them. I can take care of myself perfectly fine."

"This is a fucking _shootout_ , Damian! Even if you stay, the others are coming! You're supposed to be--"

"Safe? It is to keep my grandfather's men from finding me, not keeping me _safe_ ," Damian spat the word out like poison. "Where were you the past six years to keep me safe? I can _help,_ Red Hood."

Jason would've kept arguing, or maybe even knocked the kid out with the butt of his gun, if they hadn't been distracted by another explosion. The two turned around to see the dealers throwing grenades at Kori and Arsenal. Kori was deflecting the bombs with ease and retaliated, but Arsenal had to jump from one container to another to avoid getting blown to shreds.

Jason glowered under his helmet. "What's that you were saying about helping?" he asked reluctantly.

The kid smirked and sunk into the shadows. Jason decided to go along, and checked his guns-- both a little over half empty, and readied two more clips-- and swung back into battle, taking care to shoot any boxes of hand grenades, or any dealer aiming for Arsenal. Damian was a shadow, and Jason only really noticed him when he paused to stare at the shadows, seeing the faintest glint of a silver sword slicing through the air and strike the dealers two by two. For someone dressed in the brightest fucking colors, he was pretty stealthy, Jason gave him that.

"Sorry we're late to the party!" someone called.

Jason cast a glance skyward in time to see Nightwing vault off a container and land gracefully behind a dealer and knock him out with an elbow strike to his skull.

"Don't have all the fun without us," Dick said, grinning.

Jason regained his composure. "Nightwing, there's--"

The others were quick to follow, joining the fray of battle, and a dealer charged at Dick and Jason, cutting off Jason's sentence. They were pulled into battle quickly, and Jason kept craning his neck trying to catch glimpses of Damian, not knowing if what he saw was simply a shadow or Damian coming down on another dealer. The others were so caught up in their small battles they didn't notice a thing.

Jason was fighting back to back with Nightwing, overpowering the seven or so dealers that had crept up on them. Cass and Tim were holding out on their own, Steph and Kori were also caught together, and only Arsenal and Signal were on their own. And Damian, Jason supposed.

Jason had discarded both his heavy guns-- useless now that the fighting had shifted from shooting to fighting up close-- and had resorted to Batarangs and a Glock. Dick was doing fine, snapping bones and bruising with his Escrima sticks. There were bodies everywhere-- either unconscious or dead, dead by Jason's and Damian's hand despite Jason's best effort not to kill any of them. Oh well. The smoke bombs had made the whole thing a little blurry and harder to aim for limbs.

He twisted around and shot a dealer in the side about to shoot Dick, finishing their last attacker and both him and Dick jumped in the fray of the clusters of battle, aiding wherever it was needed. 

* * *

Duke had been fighting off drug dealers to get to the turned over crates. They'd made a plan when they'd arrived at the container terminal, and Duke and Tim's role was to make sure it was the drugs that had been getting smuggled into Gotham these past few weeks. Of course, these guys had tried their hardest to make sure Duke couldn't do _that_ , which was slightly annoying. But Duke hadn't hated it, as he'd complained he wouldn't be fighting at all. Bruce had been adamant, and of course the job would fall upon the only metahuman who could manipulate shadows and the guy who'd singled out this new drug. Honestly, Duke was just there to make sure Tim wouldn't get shot or stabbed, which was proving harder since he and Tim had gotten separated pretty quickly. 

He spotted Tim, finally, who was already kneeling by one of the crates, more behind it to avoid getting hit by one of the figures clad in black who was currently shooting at him.

Out of Batarangs and out of ammunition, Duke pulled out one of Escrima sticks on a whim and sprung the thin hatchet blade and threw it at the guy, hitting him square in the hand. He cried out and dropped the semi-automatic rifle, clutching his hand. the stick now laying on the ground beside the rifle, stained with blood. Duke winced, knowing it was definitely not supposed to be used to almost slice through someone's wrist, but he'd panicked and improvised.

He ran to Tim, skidding to his knees and rolling and hitting the crate softly with his side. The guy had picked his rifle back up and had started shooting again, and Duke could only hope Arsenal would take care of him from his perch.

"Signal!" Tim exclaimed.

He was looking a little worse for wear, his cape torn, his face smeared with grime that did little to hide blossoming bruises. Tim was also clutching his arm, blood seeping through his fingers, a tell-tale sign that Tim had either been grazed by a bullet or shot. The trickle of blood was sluggish enough that Duke didn't have to worry about a hit artery.

"C'mere," Duke said, sitting up and scooting closer to Tim, who struggled to slide closer to Duke while avoiding getting shot again.

Duke pulled out a roll of gauze from his belt and rolled it tightly around Tim's arm, wincing whenever Tim hissed or flinched in pain, apologies falling liberally from his lips.

"Sorry," he apologized again as he tore the gauze from the rest of the roll and pulled it tight before tying it off, making Tim gasp out in pain. "I just have to make it tight to stop the--"

"It's fine," Tim ground out. "Just hurry up so we can check the crates."

"Right, right."

He had the briefest amusing thought that he was an eighteen year old senior in high school and he spent his night not slaving over homework or perusing the Internet like his peers, but fighting off the worst of the worst. Hell, he'd heard people talk about Signal. _Him_. He wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it all.

"There." He sat back and tucked the roll of gauze safely away, glad Bruce had started insisting they all carry some on their person during patrol. "Where do we start?"

Tim snapped his fingers and Duke found himself surprised at how clearly heard it. 

"Hey, the shooting stopped."

Tim blinked, eyebrows raising. "Huh. Great."

"Uh, yeah, 'cuz now I can hide us." Duke grinned, though Tim couldn't see through the helmet.

Being a metahuman wasn't as weird as Duke thought it would be. It was actually pretty easy, and keeping it a secret was also very surprisingly easy. Duke wasn't the best at hiding secrets, but every time he slipped up and mentioned his powers, his friends laughed it off, which Duke found both absolutely hilarious and absurd. Darkness manipulation was by far the strangest ability, but he'd quickly gotten the hang of it, making stealth or recon missions that much easier when someone could manipulate the shadows to his will. The shadow of the crate enveloped both of them, rendering them virtually invisible to everyone.

"Done. You need any help?"

Tim scowled at his arm. "Unfortunately."

Duke rolled his eyes. "If you don't like my company, just say it, Red Robin."

He mentally added the 'yum' almost subconsciously and bit back a snort. That was a surefire guarantee to make Tim mad.

Duke and Tim both struggled to pry the cover of a crate open and peered inside. the coppery powder packed hard into tight squares matched every photo Duke had seen Tim and Bruce analyze tirelessly. Tim picked one up gingerly and peeled off the plastic packaging and poked at the powder, bringing it closer to his face to smell it.

"Don't inhale," Duke said. 

Tim stared at him, and Duke could see the unimpressed squint of his eyes.

"I _know_ I shouldn't inhale," he said tersely.

Duke held up his arms. "Just reminding you."

"I don't _need_ \--"

"Dude, is it the drug or not?"

Tim's lip curled, but he nodded and pressed his comm on. "Oracle? Bluebird?" he called. "We found the drug. At least in one of the crates. We still need to check the others."

"Okay," came Harper's reply. "Keep us updated Red."

The two moved on to the next crate and Tim sifted through the packets once again, glancing over to make sure they were all the same powder. Duke took up another crate, splitting the work in half. The sound of battle was calming down.

"What do you reckon?" Duke asked, smiling wryly under his helmet after a minute of silence.

"About what?" Tim asked, sounding half distracted.

"I think we may have busted their hidey hole."

Tim shrugged, then winced when his bullet wound shifted. "Doubt it," he grunted out. "Think it's more of the meeting place. Hidey hole's somewhere else."

"Then it must be a huge operation. They've got, like, fifty bajillion people here." He squinted at the remaining drug dealers. "Where _do_ they keep coming from? It's like they appeared out of thin--"

Duke trailed off, his eye catching on a lithe shadow slipping out of the shadow of a container, stabbing a dealer through the chest with a thin, flat blade that Duke knew. He _knew_ that blade. It had nearly decapitated him countless times this past month. He felt his blood turn to ice in his veins.

"Uh, Red?" he called in a small voice.

Tim paused, sensing that something was off. "What is it?" he asked, looking around.

"We may have a huge problem." Duke turned to stare at him. "I think I just saw Damian."

Tim balked, clearly not expecting that.

" _What?"_

"I swear I saw him just kill a guy!"

Tim's mouth opened slightly and Duke could almost see the cogs shudder to a grinding halt in pure shock.

"The idiot," he muttered. "You go find him. I'll finish up here. Make sure he doesn't get himself killed. I would like to do the honors myself."

Duke sighed but complied. "I always have to be the one picking up the brat," he mumbled under his breath as he sprinted to the nearest container, despite knowing that any dealer left would have his hands full with-- well, probably seventy-five percent of the city's vigilantes. They got the whole motley crew to come.

He caught sight of the shadow and approached slowly.

"Damian!" he hissed when he was close enough to be heard but not enough to be decapitated by his katana. He'd learned the hard way how long the blade was, about twenty four inches of absolute menace. 

Damian didn't flinch or whirl around, which, as a tiny assassin, Duke should have expected.

"Signal," Damian acknowledged, observing the battle from his crouched position.

"What are you doing here?" Duke hissed out. 

Damian wasn't looking at Duke. His eyes were hidden under a domino mask, but Duke could see the slight inclination of his head whenever he looked around, keeping a vigil for any unnoticed dealer. The domino mask struck Duke as odd and that was when he realized the kid was in a red, green and yellow suit. In a Robin suit. In _Tim's_ Robin suit. Oh, wow, Tim will be _pissed_.

"I came to help."

Duke sighed. "Didn't Bruce and Jason get on your case about that?"

Damian inclined his head. "They did. I did not listen."

Duke pressed his lips together. "Yeah. I can see that."

"I am not a _liability_."

Damian's fists curled tightly around his katana. Duke gaped.

"No one said you were. Just because you don't come on patrol, doesn't mean we don't think you're useful. We're all--" _grateful_ definitely didn't fit, here "--glad you're here." 

Damian's whole body tensed and he spun around and Duke's did on reflex. He cast his glance to where Damian was squinting, his remaining Escrima stick clutched tightly in his hand. Damian was staring into the shadows behind them. Duke could see through them clearly, but Damian wasn't a meta who could see through the entirety of the EM spectrum, which was why he was surprised he'd seen the guy standing there, gun in his hand.

Duke saw a dark outline pull the trigger before the guy did anything.

"Watch out!" he screamed, tackling Damian just as the guy let a hail of bullets rain from his rifle. 

Damian hit the ground with a heavy thud, his swords clattering, and Duke directly on top of him. He pulled the shadows to his will, gathering them up and expelling them towards the guy. The shadows of the containers shifted strangely, disappearing and turning to gray concrete lit up by the slim crescent moon. The guy dropped his gun in surprise and let out a strangled cry as the shadows consumed him. They were harmless, but would definitely scare the living shit out of him.

Duke grinned, rolling off Damian, who was already pushing himself upright with a grunt, probably from hitting the ground and having Duke fall on him.

"What was _that_?" he asked Duke in an accusatory tone, eyes narrowed to slits.

Duke blinked. "Oh!" he exclaimed. "Oh, I forgot you didn't know I was a metahuman!" 

Damian's lip curled, almost identically like Tim. 

"You are a metahuman?" he asked. "That would make sense. There was something not quite right about you."

" _Excuse me?"_ Duke was shocked, not sure if he should feel offended.

"Do not look so offended, Thomas. There was more to you than met the eye and I could not place it."

Duke still felt shocked, but now much less probably-offended. "Oh. Cool, I guess."

Damian's face twitched.

"You okay?" Duke asked, eyeing his tense body.

"Tch, I am fine." Damian stood up, bending over to pick up his swords, the shadows of the containers back in their place and the goon had vanished.

Damian took and step and his legs wobbled. He wouldn't have collapsed, he wasn't quite that unsteady, but Duke still reached out automatically.

"You are _not_ okay." 

Damian writhed. "I can walk, I am breathing, whatever wound I sustained is minimal."

Duke didn't release Damian despite the squirming. This kid was a fucking bar of soap. "I know you're used to walking off your wounds, but here you don't have to walk off anything, okay? You're safe."

Damian broke away and attempted to slink away into the night if he didn't stumble and wince, one of his swords slipping from his hand and reaching to clutch his abdomen. A stomach wound. That wasn't good.

Duke grabbed Damian, picked up his sword and ran out from behind the container, ignoring Damian's violent thrashing.

"Batman! Nightwing!" Duke called. "I need medical help!"

The others had gathered vaguely around Tim, tying up the last of the dealers or treating wounds. Heads turned and faces slackened when they saw Duke running towards them with Damian twisting in his arms and screaming at him to let him go.

"Damian?" Bruce asked, too stunned to see his son to be properly angry.

Damian froze, both palms flat against Duke's chest, his arms taut. Damian's face was angled towards Duke, so he could see his eyes go wide and his face pale. Duke set Damian down on a crate and only glanced at his arms when he heard a gasp. They were red. Coated and slick with blood that was not Tim's. 

He pulled off his helmet and knelt in front of Damian, checking his abdomen with shaking hands, his hand brushing against a tear in the fabric and hearing Damian's breath hitch. The kid had gone complacent the second he'd heard Bruce's voice, which in other circumstances would have made Duke reassure him Bruce was a really nice guy, but in this situation, he was just glad he didn't have to deal with restraining him while he worked. 

He peeled the fabric back to show a bullet wound, right under the stomach. It was bleeding heavily and Duke's hands shook harder.

"Damian," he breathed. 

"How bad is it?" Steph asked. "Do we need a hospital?"

Jason stepped forward, his own helmet in one hand, giving Duke's shoulder a quick squeeze and the flash of a small smile, and crouched in front of Damian to observe the bullet hole.

"It doesn't look like it hit any organs, which is honestly the best thing we can hope for, so no hospital," he said. "He'll need Leslie, though."

Kori stepped forward, her hair billowing like flames. "I can fly him to her clinic," she said. "It will be quicker."

Bruce's eyebrows were pinched. "Take him. We'll meet you there."

"Damian--" Dick tried, stepping forward, but Cass grabbed his arm and stopped him in his tracks.

She gazed into his eyes and Dick deflated.

Kori scooped Damian up, who was significantly paler than before, which Duke believed to be both from anxiety about making Bruce angry he'd disobeyed and blood loss. Kori lost no time taking off towards Leslie's clinic, leaving the others standing there in almost petrified silence, Duke still shaking slightly, his arms stained red with Damian's drying blood. Stomach wounds were the most serious. Damian had gotten _shot_. In front of Duke--

Jason gloved hand landed on his shoulder. "If you keep beating yourself up, I'll knock you out myself," he said. "Is that what you want? To go to bed before you see Damian, all healed up by the best doctor in Gotham?"

Duke swallowed the lump in his throat. "N-no."

"Good. He'll be fine."

He was thirteen. That's not even old enough to be in high school. Duke sighed, agreeing with Jason that beating himself up would do nothing about Damian's condition. 

"He'll be fine," he repeated, willing himself to believe it. Willing the universe to make it true.

* * *

"I trust you'll refrain from any straining physical activity?" the silver haired doctor asked, crossing her arms.

Damian had been in surgery for five hours, his condition almost critical by the time Kori had gotten to the clinic, with him barely holding onto consciousness and slipping quickly. Now he felt perfectly fine albeit a little tired, a thick bandage wrapped around his abdomen and painkillers slowing him down. 

He scowled. "I am aware of my current limitations, Doctor Thompkins," he said. "May I leave now?"

Doctor Thompkins sighed, casting her eyes on the bulky bandage. "You will stay here until morning," she said sternly before her features softened. "Your father and his children want to see you. Should I let them in?"

Damian tensed, playing with the stiff white sheets. "Yes," he said. He might as well face his punishment sooner rather than later.

Doctor Thompkins walked across the room, her heels clicking on the linoleum and stepped outside. Damian could hear her voice through the open door.

"He should make a full recovery within a few weeks," he heard her say. "Though he's a little tired. I'll give you ten minutes before I insist he tries to sleep."

Damian sighed and leaned back against the fluffy pillow, doubtful he'd be able to sleep. Though with enough morphine, doctors and nurses could coax anyone under the heavy folds of unconsciousness.

The door winced open and Damian's eyes snapped to the people streaming in. They were all in their normal clothes, their faces clean of dirt and grime and their wounds taken care of and bandaged, though they all most likely hid numerous black and blue bruises underneath. Drake was the only one with bruises lining his jaw and circling his eye, though Cain sported a scabbing cut on her chin. They were all oddly silent, and Damian felt a crushing weight fall over the room. Bruce stepped forward and Damian's muscles locked, barely avoiding a violent flinch. This was Bruce Wayne. This was his father. This was not Ra's. This was not Ra's Al Ghul.

His father took a seat on a hard chair and the others dispersed, perching in various places, the couch, the coffee table, the other chair, and his bed.

"Damian," Bruce started, reaching for Damian's hand and he could not help it; he flinched. He immediately regretted it when his father startled, a dark look in his eyes. They became sad when he stared into Damian's eyes. 

He sighed, rubbing his hand over his face, scrubbing tiredness away. "Damian, I don't think I need to tell you that your actions were reckless."

Damian remained silent, staring at his hands.

"And I absolutely forbid you from doing this ever again until you're fully healed," Bruce went on. "But I know you simply wanted to feel a part of this team."

Bruce's hands covered Damian's, the warmth seeping through Damian. He shuddered, forcing the image of Ra's grabbing his wrist and dragging him out to punish him for disobeying out of his mind. He did not flinch this time.

"I--I didn't mean for you to...feel left out. I've just--" Bruce swallowed. "I've lost too many Robins already, and I don't want you to be another one."

The silence was still heavy. No one spoke, and Damian couldn't muster anything other than a blank look. He was _tired._ A bone-deep exhaustion that left him void of any emotion.

"I know you can handle yourself, but it is also my job to keep you safe. And not just from the League and Ra's. As your father, I... yes, I've made mistakes, but I--"

"Can I still join patrol?" Damian asked in a voice rough from disuse and dehydration. "I can help."

Bruce smiled, but it barely reached his eyes. "We can talk about it when you get better. Not before."

"It was a simple mistake. It will not happen again."

Bruce stayed silent.

"You can't guarantee that, Lil' D," Dick said in a muted voice. "We were scared you weren't gonna pull through."

Damian managed a scowl. "I have suffered worse, Grayson."

At the hands of Ra's at the League. At the hands of countless faceless assassins in six years. He knew their eyes were fixed on the scars all over his body. He remembered each one. Such pain, it turns out, is hard to forget. He blocked it out, but it was always there.

"I can be Robin, Father."

Bruce ruffled his hair. "I know, Damian." He squeezed Damian's hand and stood up. "Try to get some rest. You'll be free to go home tomorrow."

He walked out, followed by Brown, Todd and Drake, all of whom hugged or ruffled his hair on their way out despite his protests and threats. 

Damian stared at Cain, Thomas and Grayson. "Are you not leaving, too?" he asked, voice heavy with exhaustion. The heavy air in the room was still there, pressing down and stifling him.

Cain simply shook her head and curled onto the couch, a soft blanket wrapped around herself. It was near half past four in the morning. They should not have bothered waiting for him, they could have simply collected him in the morning.

Grayson smiled. "No way, Lil' D. I'm staying right here. I don't have anywhere else to be."

That felt oddly comforting.

Thomas was curled against the other end of the couch. "I'm not going to school tomorrow," he said. "I, uh....called in sick. I wanted to be with you."

Damian blinked. "Well that has to be the most idiotic thing to come out of your mouth," he said. "You are wasting your education away to make sure I am all right, while I am staying inside a hospital. You should not. I am fine."

Duke snorted. "Don't put so much faith in the American public school system," he said wisely. "And either way, you can't make me go to school."

Damian huffed and settled on the bed, rolling away from them. 

"Good night, Damian," Grayson murmured, flicking the lights off. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'll be honest, the AP human geo line made me laugh.


	8. Body (and Mind) of Scars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don't know WHY it's almost december, but i sure as hell know i didn't allow it

Tim was awake. He'd been awake for a few minutes, and he'd spent that time staring at the ceiling, both out of boredom and to calm his breathing. He'd been reciting the first chapter of his business management textbook in his head to ground himself. He'd started highlighting the end of the first section when his mind began to wander.

His phone lit up on his bedside table, chasing the shadows to the corners of the bed and his desk. He leaned over, already knowing there was only one person who could be calling him at four in the morning. 

"Harper?" he asked.

"Do you ever think of your purpose in the universe and why you were put on the planet?" she asked, sounding just as awake but tired as he felt.

He fell back down onto his pillow, staring at the ceiling. "Not currently."

Harper hummed. "I am. That's why I called. It's too early for an existential crisis."

"I appreciate you assuming I'd be awake, but I still feel offended."

Harper hummed again. "Then why have insomnia."

"It's a literal condition and I have no contr--"

Harper laughed. "Jesus, learn how to take a joke."

Tim didn't reply, just stared at the ceiling. "Was it a nightmare?" 

Harper was silent for a long time. Maybe she was keeping herself busy. He should probably be meditating himself, just trying to find ways to get through his insomnia. He must be meditating wrong, it hadn't helped yet. 

"No." Harper paused so long Tim thought she'd finished talking. "I just woke up. You?"

Tim smiled humorlessly. "Maybe. I don't remember it. I woke up in a panic. It doesn't matter what the dream was about."

It was always the same nightmare. Always. Maybe the people weren't the same, maybe they died differently, maybe it wasn't a nightmare but a memory, but his loved ones died. Always.

"Nightmare," Harper said softly.

"What?" 

"It's not a dream, Tim. It's a nightmare. It's not the same."

The difference mattered little to Tim, who'd been having more nightmares than dreams for as long as he could remember, but he didn't say anything. Harper didn't call often. She didn't wake up often, unlike Tim. But many times she'd dissolved in really bad anxiety attacks that had woken up Cullen. She'd brought it up one day, and Tim had brought up his insomnia, and he supposed it was how their nightly calls started. Their calls mostly included the two sitting in silence, comforted with the knowledge that someone else was here, awake.

Tim wished he could have Kon. But Conner was back with his family and hopefully asleep and had his own problems to deal with. At least he had someone he considered practically a sister. That was enough.

Tim stared at the ceiling, feeling so, so tired, but so awake. He was scared of the flashing images that came with sleep, but he also knew he might not be able to fall asleep again for some time. On good days, he managed to fall back asleep for one or two hours at most. He ached for sleep. He ached for a good night's sleep. He ached for a feeling of wakefulness he didn't remember ever having.

Jason was wrong. He'd mocked Tim for his terrible sleeping habits and his large consumption of energy drinks and caffeine. Dick was worried about him. Bruce had tried to talk him into meditating. Contrary to popular belief, Tim liked sleep. Probably more than anyone else, actually. He was so often deprived of it that he treasured what little he managed to get. Sleep was an advantage that people didn't know they had until they lost it. He never asked for the insomnia, the nightmares. He was just so deeply tired.

"I'm so tired," he whispered.

"So sleep," Harper said matter-of-factly.

"It doesn't work like that," he said in a tone that half-asked how Harper, of all people, would ever state something like that. As if sleep had ever come easy for him.

"It should."

Tim huffed out a laugh. "Yeah. It should."

Tim let his thoughts wander, letting his body relax, but sleep wouldn't come. It escaped, just out of his reach, his fingers brushing past it.

"We should go out to a diner or something," Harper said.

Tim exhaled slowly. "I'm too tired to move."

"I'm starting to have thoughts again."

"Thinking is normal," Tim replied.

"No. Not like that. Talk to me."

Tim took a deep breath, trying to think of anything. His mind was blank, but he managed to extract out his new dissertation topic. "I have a dissertation to write before Thanksgiving break for my business management class," he said softly. "My mind is kinda blanking a little, so I definitely don't guarantee linear thoughts."

Harper clicked her tongue. "I'm too tired to really judge either way. Shoot."

Tim licked his lips. "Okay, uh, I don't remember the exact topic I chose, but it's about business management in the era of, like, globalization."

Harper laughed. "You already lost me. Go on, though. I won't interrupt too much."

Tim snorted, doubting it, but he was glad to have something to take his mind off the current situation. He was glad to just _talk_. Nothing really important, probably things that were barely coherent and made no sense, but talking. 

He stopped halfway through his sentence, his mind no longer blank, just half functioning, and mainly through abstract images and words.

"Tim?" Harper asked sleepily. "You good? You were regaling me with tales of, uh...business....globalization? Tim?"

Tim gaped. "Harper," he hissed, more awake now. How had his brain come up with this? "Harper, Jason is the male version of Rosa Diaz."

He just urgently had the need to share this thought that his brain had conjured before it was lost forever. He had to text it to the others. Holy shit. Harper was silent. And then burst into laughter.

"What?" she asked. "Tim-- oh my God, you fucking bastard, you're right."

Tim pulled his phone from his ear and urgently texted the family group chat his wonderful discovery and then texted Kon, and pretty much everyone in his contacts. They all needed to know. _Now._

He heard Harper's phone buzz from his end.

"What-- Tim, did you just text that to the chat? Jason's gonna make you disappear, man. You're testing the Fates here."

"My genius doesn't fear the inevitability of death, Harper," Tim replied.

"Whatever. I'll ask Cass or Steph to film Jason strangling you."

"Like Rosa," Tim whispered.

Harper huffed but said nothing else. Tim counted his breathing. He wanted to say something. Not because the silence was uncomfortable, but because he itched to say something, but nothing fit. Four in the morning meant there was an unspoken agreement that some things didn't fit there, some conversation subjects didn't quite fit at a time where reality was warped and where time had no real meaning.

"What are you doing?" Harper asked.

"Thinking that time has no meaning," Tim replied. "Are you gonna sleep soon?"

Harper made a non-committal sound. "No."

Tim didn't ask why. It didn't matter _why_. There was a good chance Harper didn't even know why herself. All that mattered was that neither were alone.

"I feel heavy," Tim said. "But also floaty. I don't think I can physically move, but I feel like I'm just floating at the same time."

"Ugh, I get it. I have zero energy to be productive but too much energy to sleep. So I went to get orange juice. I'm sitting on my kitchen counter."

Tim felt himself smile a little and his eyes latched onto the window. The sky was still pitch black, but he felt a change, as if it was now morning and the world was waking up. It must be five in the morning, now.

"I should really start bringing snacks with me when I go to bed. I really don't want to go downstairs."

The heaviness rolled around and Tim felt like nothing existed except his mind and conscience. He felt tired. 

"I'm really tired, Harp," he murmured, the hand holding his phone now limp. "Stay on the line?"

"I'm not going anywhere, Boy Genius," she replied. "You need sleep more than I do."

Tim was too tired to form words, or even open his mouth. He closed his eyes and the world vanished, almost like blowing out a candle.

Tim really didn't want to go to school. He'd barely wanted to get out of bed. He'd managed to catch an hour and a half of sleep, and when he woke up to his alarm, his face was pressed against his phone, which was still in a call with Harper, whose breathing had evened out. She must've fallen asleep on her couch, Tim had thought. He ended the call and texted her a good morning and a smiley face before rolling out of bed. A quick shower later, Tim looked somewhat presentable enough to go down for breakfast, though he still felt ready to fall asleep the second he sat down.

He trudged down the grand stairs barefoot, faint music and the smell of bacon wafting from the kitchen, and Tim's stomach growled. He may look and feel like a zombie, but he was hungry zombie. He walked across the marble entryway and into the hallway leading to the kitchen, the music becoming louder and Tim could guess who was making breakfast the moment he identified the singer. It was Jason. He was the only one who had a playlist that was seventy percent Taylor Swift. 

"Replacement," Jason greeted from the stove when Tim entered the kitchen.

Tim was too tired for words. He grunted a greeting and Jason arched an eyebrow. Only Duke, Bruce and Dick were sat at the table, Cass and Steph nowhere in sight and Damian on bedrest for the whole day. 

"Thought you didn't want to become Batman?" he asked, grinning like he said something very clever.

"Shut up, Rosa Diaz," Tim sighed.

The grin fell from Jason's face and he stopped the music. "Yeah, we need to talk about that." 

Tim shrugged, too tired to care, and sat down on a stool and watched Jason scoop the bacon in the pan onto a plate. The others still hadn't noticing Tim's appearance except for Dick who immediately stood up and took his mug. 

"Sorry," Tim said.

Jason stared at him. "'Sorry'? That's it?" He rolled his eyes. "I woke up to a text saying I looked like fucking Rosa Diaz. You texted the _group chat._ You texted my fucking boyfriend and girlfriend!"

Tim smiled. "Neat."

Jason sighed and muttered, " _Dios, ayúdame,"_ and tugged at his white streak.

"You two good?" Dick asked casually, setting his mug down and reaching for the coffee.

"No," Jason said impassively.

"I need coffee," Tim whined at the same time. "I'm _so_ tired."

"You'd be more awake if you tried to sleep instead of text everyone in the fucking universe that I look like Rosa Diaz."

Dick snorted, then cleared his throat and busied himself by pulling out a mug from a cabinet. Jason simply took the plate piled with bacon and walked away, stopping at the second island.

"I'll be making croissants tomorrow, by the way," he said to Dick offhandedly.

Dick paused, the coffee pot hovering over Tim's cup. Tim turned to look at Jason.

"Here?" he asked. 

"I thought you didn't like it here," Dick said, smiling cheekily.

Jason glared at them. "This kitchen is bigger than a fucking restaurant kitchen. I like to use big kitchens. Keep complaining, and I'll only give Kori and Roy croissants."

"It's Alfred's kitchen," Tim grumbled, accepting the coffee from Dick. "Hmm, dopamine." Dick gave him a strange look.

"You're right," Jason admitted. "I'll give some to Alfred."

He let himself fall onto a stool at the other kitchen island, pointedly away from Tim, who would've cared more if he didn't feel so tired. For some reason, he imagined the idea of Jason making croissants very funny. He drained half the cup and set it down to see Dick look at him in worry.

"Stop it," he said. "Stop the mother hen face, Dick. Give that to Damian or something."

"First off, you texted the group chat at four fifty in the morning," Dick said. "You look like a corpse, second of all, and I am perfectly allowed to worry about you, Tim."

Tim sighed and reached for one of the stacked slices of toasted bread Dick had stuffed in the toaster and bit into it. He felt tired, and he really didn't want to go to school today. A Monster Energy will fix that well enough.

"You need sleep, Tim," Dick said.

"No, I need serotonin," Tim countered.

"You know what else you need, genius? Melatonin," Jason sneered.

"Happy brain juice go brrr," Tim said, throwing what remained of his toast at Jason and hitting him in the temple.

He let out a laugh and Duke looked over.

"What the hell, Replacement?" Jason barked, brushing crumbs off him. Both Duke and Bruce had looked over and were watching them, now.

Dick swooped in and grabbed Tim's coffee mug from his hands with a resigned sigh. "I think that's enough coffee for the week."

"Noooooooo," Tim moaned, letting his cheek fall onto the smooth marble countertop, his body going completely limp and casting a dark glare at Dick. "That's a cruel move, Dickie."

They all sat in silence, eyes cast on Tim. Dick exchanged a glance with Jason, who was staring at Tim completely dumbfounded at Tim.

"I think he just broke," Dick finally said.

"No, I just want to feel alive," Tim said, voice muffled from where his face was pressed into the cool marble. "I fucking hate insomnia."

Duke groaned. "I feel that, buddy. Completely. I gotta go to school, hope you feel more alive."

He stood up and left, leaving Bruce the only one sitting at the table. Dick and Jason who were both peering at Tim.

"You need to stay home today, Timbo?" Bruce asked.

Tim turned his head and squinted at Bruce's concerned face. "I should be fine as long as I get my coffee."

Bruce sighed, resting his hand on Tim's back. "Did you try meditating? It helped me when I had trouble sleeping. Maybe an appointment with Doctor Chesterton can't hurt--"

Tim sat up. "No. I'm fine."

The three exchanged incredulous looks. 

"Maybe--" Dick started.

"The Kents are coming over for Thanksgiving, right?" Tim asked, changing the subject, remembering overhearing Bruce and Dick's conversation about it.

Both Bruce and Dick frowned, but didn't comment on it. Jason rolled his eyes and muttered something under his breath.

"Yes," Bruce said. "His family's been invited to celebrate with us this year. Damian suggested we invite friends to try and have an enjoyable moment."

Tim nodded. "That's good. It'll be nice to have a Thanksgiving that won't descend into a Lord of the Flies-esque bloodbath."

Bruce smirked and Jason snorted and muttered something that sounded close to "doubtful". Dick pressed his lips in a line and said nothing, eyes cloudy and distant. Everyone knew by now the argument Dick had with Wally the previous week about Thanksgiving. Tim did feel slightly guilty about that. He knew the reason Dick hadn't wanted Wally's family to come to the manor for Thanksgiving was because Tim and Jason were ticking time bombs that could go off at any time. More than Dick and Bruce's ticking time bomb. And Jason and Bruce's. 

"I'll get ready for school," Tim mumbled, pushing himself off the stool.

Bruce frowned in disappointment. "You need to take a break, Tim," he said.

Tim locked eyes with Bruce and Dick cleared his throat.

"Uh...Jason and I will go check on Damian, make sure his stitches are fine, etcetera etcetera." He laughed nervously, tugging Jason along.

"Hey-- I don't want to check on the demon--"

Dick shut him up with a glare and Jason gave a long suffering sigh but followed him anyway. Tim glared after them, leaving him alone for Bruce's inevitable 'you need sleep' lecture like the cowardly traitors they were.

* * *

Damian was not happy about having to stay in bed all day, but nonetheless complied when Bruce told him sternly to stay in bed all day. When Dick and Jason walked in, Alfred was changing Damian's bandage.

They both paused in the doorway, Dick's eyes staring at every scar on his body. They'd all seen his scars two days ago when they'd seen him at Leslie's clinic, but every time Dick saw them he couldn't stop staring. His entire upper body was a pattern of stab wounds, bullet wounds and burn scars. There was a scar that ran the length of Damian's abdomen, looking deep enough that, before it had been a scar, must have been a terribly painful wound. On Damian's right shoulder was the largest scar, the one that had Bruce ask him how he'd gotten it, white faced and stiff. It was on the back of Damian's shoulder and stretched to his shoulder blades-- a huge jagged scar, white against Damian's almond skin, a contrast that made it stand out even more. Damian had claimed he'd received that one when he'd been dragged behind a moving car early in his and Talia's run.

"How you feeling?" Dick asked softly, meeting Damian's green eyes.

Damian's eyes were entirely blank. "I am perfectly well, and very capable of moving around the house," he said lowly.

"Master Bruce is quite insistent you take it easy Master Damian," Alfred said, stepping away from Damian. "I do have to agree with him. The bullet wound has a high risk of tearing open with too much movement."

Damian scowled. "You may leave, Pennyworth."

Alfred inclined his head. "Shall I bring you a cup of tea?"

Damian pursed his lips, hesitating between telling Alfred off and agreeing to the tea. Finally, Damian sighed, his shoulders slumping.

"Yes, Pennyworth, I would appreciate a cup of tea."

"Very well. Shall I bring you two anything from the kitchen?"

Jason and Dick both shook their heads and Alfred shut the door behind him, his footsteps receding down the hall.

"If I am to spend another day in my room, might someone bring me my cat?" Damian asked.

The awkwardness broke. Jason scoffed and leaned back against the wall, arms crossed over his chest and Dick crossed the room and perched himself on the bed.

"How's the stomach?" he asked, resting his hands on his knees. 

"Nothing I can't handle."

That wasn't what Dick had asked, but he left it alone.

"Why are you really here?" Damian asked, looking at Jason and Dick suspiciously.

Dick frowned. "To check up on you," he said. That was the main reason, yes, but Damian was right to assume there was something else.

Jason huffed behind Dick. "To tell you we're inviting people over for Thanksgiving. Actually, that's why _Dick's_ here. I was dragged along."

Dick turned to stare at Jason. "Because staying in the kitchen to listen to Tim and Bruce argue was the better option?"

Damian huffed. "It seems Father is capable of listening to others," he muttered. "Grayson, you should invite West and his family over."

Dick's hands stilled, though he didn't want to look up and look at Damian. Or Jason. 

"No," he said, clearing his throat to chase off the tremors. "No. I can't. He wouldn't come."

They had a pretty bad argument about it a few days ago. Wally had been right, of course, Dick had never invited him or his family for the holidays. Wally had wanted to be with Dick for Thanksgiving, Dick had said no. He didn't want Wally or his family anywhere near his own during Thanksgiving. Dick didn't know why he'd said no to spending it at Barry's house, but that mattered little now. He and Wally barely talked. Just a few short texts and that was it.

"Yes, he will," Damian said. "Because he wanted to come. Tell him he can come for Thanksgiving."

Dick shook his head and smiled. It was funny. "And meet the family?" It wasn't that funny.

"Dick--" Jason said, and Dick must've imagined the note of guilt he heard.

Damian glared. "If you do not invite his family, Grayson, then I will have Father send them a formal invitation."

Dick had miscalculated just how much he'd underestimated the kid. Damian knew exactly what he was doing, how much Wally would hate it if Bruce sent Barry the invitation instead of Dick telling Wally. 

"You have a weird way of showing you care, gremlin," Jason scoffed.

Damian's eyes narrowed. "You misunderstand, Todd, I am not here to stay. It is a ridiculous notion--"

Dick startled. "Damian. What are you saying? Don't you want to stay?"

Damian gave Dick a controlled smile, almost condescending. "Grayson, it was, and never will be, about what I want."

Dick turned to look at Jason, half to spare Damian from his "puppy eyes". Jason hadn't moved from the door, but his muscles were tense and his jaw was locked. 

"Ra's and the League won't touch you," Jason said darkly in a tone that made goosebumps rise along Dick's bare arms. "Do you hear me, demon? They're not touching anyone else in this goddamn family as long as I live and breathe."

Dick was staring at Jason, not quite sure how to react to his statement. 

"I am not part of your family, Todd," Damian said. "I was brought here to keep me safe. Mother will come back for me and we will leave again."

Jason met Dick's eyes and they seemed to ask the same question Dick's did. _Will she come back?_ There was no guarantee Talia, despite being the deadliest assassin out there and an Al Ghul, was still just one person against a whole league of assassins. Here, the League was a myth, an urban legend. A whispered rumor on the street followed by a "it's just a myth" from sceptics. Enough stories circulated for Dick to know that the League was a _serious_ threat, and he highly doubted an ex-League assassin could take them down alone. He'd have to ask Babs to check with Bruce to see if Talia's contacted him like she'd said she would. 

"You were brought here," Todd said. "That's true. But you are here. And you're family."

Damian scowled, but Dick could've sworn he paled slightly. "Are we quite sure you are not currently intoxicated?"

Jason scowled. "Dickard doesn't take anyone to Haly's, kid," he rumbled, opening the door and letting himself out. Dick let him go, instead turning back to Damian.

Damian was staring at Dick, meeting his eyes the second he locked his gaze with Damian's green one. There was a helpful blank look on Damian's face to give Dick a clue as to what he was feeling. His hands were folded in his lap, over his covers. 

"Jay's right," Dick conceded. "Haly's was my home before I came to live at Wayne Manor. I like showing my--" he licked his lips, his throat suddenly dry. "--my family around. I like taking them there and showing them where I grew up." 

Damian said nothing, but stared emptily into Dick's eyes, his eyes calculating.

"You are not my family," he said with finality, in a firm tone.

Dick was taken aback, despite expecting such a statement from him. He smiled. "That's okay, too."

The slight crease between Damian's eyebrows was the only emotion that crossed the kid's face, but it could mean so many different things Dick didn't bother deciphering it. A good thing that came out of the family he'd been dealt with was that Dick knew that pestering someone to open up had better chances of making it harder for them to feel welcome than just giving them time and space. He'd just have to give Damian time and space, too. But unfortunately, Dick had never known how to back down. He wouldn't give up on Damian.

"Your cat is becoming quite hard to find, Master Damian," Alfred said from the doorway.

Dick startled to his feet and Damian finally looked away from him. The two stared at Alfred who was walking into Damian's room with a tray in one hand and a struggling cat in the other. Alfred's white sleeve was already torn and scratched up from Alfred the cat's tiny claws. Alfred the butler had piled the tray with a cup of steaming tea and a plate of waffles.

"I'll let you eat in peace," Dick said fluidly, slipping past Alfred. "See you later, Dames."

Damian looked up at him. "That is not my name, Grayson."

He grinned. "I know."

The second Dick was out of the room, he pulled out his phone and called Wally. He walked down the hall, down the grand staircase, through an arching entryway, heading for his gym while listening to the endless rings of his phone. Wally wasn't picking up. The call rang out when Dick reached the gym. He stepped inside before calling again, then kicked his shoes off and peeled off his socks.

There was a metal bar that ran from one wall to the other. It could be elevated or lowered, but Dick usually kept it low enough that he could grab hold of it and swing his legs over it and usually just hang there upside down. That was exactly what he did, waiting for Wally to call him back. He was wearing his jeans, so hooking his knees around the bar was trickier and they kept slipping where the fabric touched metal, but he managed.

Dick's phone clicked as the call connected and Dick almost dropped onto the blue mat under him.

"Dick," Wally sighed, sounding tired. "What is it?"

"Wally," Dick started, adjusting to his upside-down view of the world. "I'm so sorry about the whole Thanksgiving thing."

There was silence from the other end. "Dick--"

"No, Wally, wait. Listen to me. Please." Wally didn't say anything, so Dick took it as his cue to go on. "We've been best friends for years, and we've been dating for years, and I'm happiest when we're together, and I do want to share that with my family. I do want you to hang around them, and spend the holidays with them, the way I sometimes do with your family, but-- Wally, my family isn't in a good place right now. I don't know if we'll ever be in a good place, and Jason and Tim are in a really bad place, and so am I with Bruce and I really want your first Thanksgiving with us to be wonderful--"

"Dick," Wally said softly, and Dick stopped talking. "I know. I'm sorry for getting so frustrated. It's okay."

"No. You were right, Wally." Dick took a deep breath, knowing there was a very good chance he would regret this, come Thanksgiving day. "And Damian managed to convince me that this would be a good idea, but he's not wrong. I--I want you and your family to come over for Thanksgiving. At Wayne Manor. With...everyone."

This was going to be a disaster.

Wally was silent. "Dick, are you serious?"

Dick laughed. "Yes I am, you idiot."

"Dick, I can't--"

"It's not fair to you that I decide for you _and_ for my family that you shouldn't meet because there might be a little bit of arguing," Dick admitted. "And Iris's pumpkin pie is to die for."

Wally gasped. "Is this why you're inviting me over? To use me to get to the pie?"

Dick laughed, genuine and happy. "Yes, Walls. You've discovered my secret. Your aunt's pumpkin pie is the true love of my life."

Wally made an anguished sound. "Oh, cruel fate."

"Don't worry, I love you, too. You're both orange."

"Richard, you take that back right now or I will come over to slap you myself," Wally said very seriously.

Dick grinned. "I will absolutely not apologize."

"Hey, I'm--thank you. For inviting us for Thanksgiving," Wally said. "I promise to avoid arguing with your siblings. And I promise I won't break up with you after meeting your crazy family, because I know you're a dumbass and you're worried about that."

Dick _had_ been worried about that. Not a lot, but the thought had wedged its way into his brain and refused to leave, nagging him all the time. Wally's reassurance eased Dick a little and made a flush creep up his cheeks that had nothing to do with him hanging upside down.

"It's a stupid thing to worry about."

Wally laughed. "When _don't_ we worry about stupid things?"

He felt a smile tug at his lips. Wally was just like that all the time, and Dick loved him. "You're the best boyfriend, did I ever tell you that?"

"You did, but I never get tired of hearing it." Wally paused, then spoke up again. "How are you, today?"

Dick paused. Wally always had a way to pick up whatever hints Dick dropped that he was having a bad day. He'd woken up from a flashback early this morning and had tried his best not to think about it, but he let himself drop down onto the mat and laid there.

"I had a flashback," he admitted. He had not lied to Damian, he told Wally everything. "It was raining when I woke up and I was terrified I was--"

He remembered the blind panic of waking up, the lingering words and the burning touches all over his body and hearing the rain pattering against his window, lightning flashing behind the curtains, thunder rolling. He remembered his shaking hands, his shaking body, his heart beating in his throat, the tears threatening to spill. He hadn't called Wally because his mind wasn't here. It was back there, on that rooftop, that night.

"You don't deserve any of this," Wally said. "I can come to your apartment if you don't want to spend the night alone."

Dick sat up, smiling mirthlessly. "If we all got what we deserved, your parents would be Barry and Iris, Walls."

Wally fell silent and Dick's heart stopped. It was close to Thanksgiving, and he was an idiot for not realizing sooner.

"Did your parents try to call you?" he asked more softly, glancing at the closed door to make sure no one was coming in. 

"Yeah," Wally said, sounding both shaken and angry. "You know what they wanted? They wanted us to come over for Thanksgiving. Their exact words, I believe, were that they 'wanted to spend time with their son'." Wally laughed. "I haven't been their son since I was sixteen and Dad almost killed me."

Dick winced, the memory of that day resurfacing. "Wally--"

"Hell, Barry and Iris have been better parents to me than they ever were even _before_ they got custody of me. All they were good at was pretending I didn't have powers or beating the shit out of me, but sure, let's spend Thanksgiving together! What should we talk about first? My love life? How their life has been since the _court case?"_

Dick pulled his knees up to his chest and rested his chin against them, letting Wally vent, his boyfriend's every words a punch to his heart. He hated hearing Wally like this and he knew Wally hated hearing him like that, too. Neither of them deserved it, Wally was right.

"You wanna talk about it at my place?" Dick asked quietly, his voice hardly above a whisper. 

There was sniffling from the other end, and wow did that squeeze Dick's heart painfully. 

"Yeah," Wally said in a small voice. "Yes, please."

Dick didn't end the call when he picked himself up and made his way to the door and picked up his shoes. He hurried through the house barefoot and didn't bother with a coat or scarf, or even putting his shoes back on when he stepped outside and made his way to the car. The car was sitting in front of the manor, fifteen feet away, but Dick's feet were already stiff and frozen when he reached the car. He was thankful he'd been wearing Wally's STAR Labs sweatshirt, because if there was one thing Wally loved doing, it was collecting hoodies and sweatshirts.

He glanced at the manor before starting the car. Thanksgiving this year was going to be an absolute mess

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a bit of a filler chapter, but we get thanksgiving next chapter i promise. i do have a plotline to follow and i need to get to december lol


	9. Thanksgiving Shenanigans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wish to dedicate this chapter to my mom and her extensive knowledge on porcelain and faience.
> 
> also, spotify playlist no one asked for but that i made anyway is [here! :)](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/39UMoYEeQYdlCmYBLtWloG)

Steph had fallen asleep at her desk , her cheek resting on her open textbook. She'd fallen asleep around two, she guesstimated. She sat up and stretched, her back aching something fierce and she could barely move her neck without her nerves protesting in pain. she checked her phone to see it was close to eleven already, and high time she went downstairs and helped the others prepare Thanksgiving dinner.

Steph stripped off yesterday's clothes and replaced them with denim jeans and a white cable-knit sweater and passed a brush through her hair before padding barefoot out of her room. Sunlight streamed through the windows, brightening up the manor and making Steph feel like she was living her Pride and Prejudice life in Pemberley House. 

Another door further down the hall swung open and Steph grinned. "Hi Cass," she greeted cheerfully, hooking the girl's arm with hers. "Did you just wake up, too?"

Cass shook her head. _I was awake. I was cold._

She gestured at her gray cardigan to prove her statement.

Steph found sign language pretty cool, and having Cass move in was the perfect opportunity for her to take it up as her high school elective to talk with her. Cass was still learning to talk, and found herself much more comfortable with sign language, and eventually everyone in the house just naturally picked it up to be able to hold conversations with their sister.

"Is dinner underway?"

Cass smiled, running her hand through her short black hair. _Yes. Everyone is here and Tim and Jay are arguing again._

Of course they were. Steph sighed. "What about this time?"

The two were making their way down the staircase and Steph could already smell cinnamon and rosemary. 

_About stuffing._

Steph laughed. "Really? What about the stuffing?"

Cass shrugged. _Jason wants to put onions in the stuffing and Tim hates onions._

"Hm. I see."

The loud voices almost drowned out Steph's voice, but they were both used to everyone in the manor being loud. Steph wondered how Bruce felt to live in a manor so full of life after years of being used to oppressive silence. She knew Tim was used to a silent home, too. He must enjoy it, because he seemed much more happier than he was when she'd first met him. He was much less angry and asocial. 

The kitchen was a mess. That was Steph's first thought. 

The atmosphere was relatively calm and even jovial. Jason was making what Steph identified as his trademark Thanksgiving caramel pecan pie, Damian hovering around him stealing pecans and stirring the caramel. Jason paid little attention to Damian and was actively arguing with Tim while rolling the dough into one of Alfred's ceramic pie pans. Every single burner on the stove was on, and there was something cooking on each one, not counting the caramel Damian was supervising. There was a mess on every kitchen island, and one out of the three was currently being used.

One of them was piled with ingredients, spilled flour that covered an entire counter, and a ripped bag of sugar half on the counter and half on the floor, eggshells and every single spice jar Alfred owned sitting over the mess. The second one was piled high with dirty bowls and spoons and an unplugged electric mixer sitting on a stack of cooking books. The third counter had been appropriated by Dick and Duke who were both working on Dick's annual Romani dessert for Thanksgiving, and making quite a mess along the way.

"Morning, Steph," Tim said, glancing at her.

"'Sup," Jason said. "Demon, you can turn off the caramel, now."

"Oh, hi," Dick said, glancing up at her with wide eyes and sugar sticking on his cheek.

"Morning. We have bagels," Duke said. "We stocked up this morning when we went last minute shopping."

"Everything bagel?" Steph asked, immediately zeroing in on the bread box sitting near the toaster.

Duke scoffed. "Uh, of course. We aren't animals."

Steph pointedly looked at Jason and Tim, who were still arguing, and then looked at Duke, raising her eyebrows.

He shrugged. " _Most_ of us aren't."

"Bagel?" Steph asked Cass, turning around to see her crouched in front of the oven and peering at the large turkey cooking inside. She shook her head and Steph popped her bagel in the toaster.

"Don't eat too much," Jason called.

"Trust me, I'll still be hungry," she shot back, not even looking at him.

"You'd better," Dick laughed. "We've been at it since nine."

Steph rolled her eyes. "Poor you. Cass and I will set the table."

 _Where are Alfred and Bruce?_ Cass asked.

Dick shrugged. "Bruce left to make a few calls after helping with the turkey and Alfred's cleaning the house."

That would make sense. A spotless house for the first Thanksgiving guests they had in three years was a must for Alfred Pennyworth. Especially when the tensions ran high at this time of year. At least Jason was in a good mood this year. And his boyfriend and girlfriend were coming, too. Steph pulled out her bagel from the toaster and reached in the fridge for cream cheese. The table could wait until after breakfast. Brunch. Whatever.

Here was the thing about Thanksgiving at Wayne Manor: it starts out well enough. 

It was just how everything went. It starts well, and then someone says something wrong, and the good mood crumbles into yelling and throwing and punching.

Steph opened a cupboard and started pulling out Martha Wayne's pink porcelain plates, the one she used for fancy dinners and that Bruce later used for fancy dinners himself. Whenever Martha's plates were used, unlike the common plates that could be renewed, nobody dared break them. Martha had a thing for collecting dinnerware that she would often use for dinner instead of just hang them in a glass cabinet, saying there was no use in buying plates if they were just supposed to sit and collect dust. To Steph, plates were plates, but she supposed irreplaceable plates that her adoptive father's dead mom collected were kind of important, so she didn't complain much. 

Collecting plates. What a concept. Humans were weird creatures, and her anthropology classes were most likely not going to change that opinion in hindsight.

"We use the wedding China or the pink China?" Steph used, glancing at the blue and white plates with gold trimming sitting further back in the cabinet. 

"Wedding China's for Christmas, Steph," Tim said, in a tone that made it sound like that should've been obvious. "Pink."

Steph rolled her eyes. "Excuse me if not all of us grew up in a home where different plates were used for different occasions."

"Rich people," Jason agreed. 

_"Refined_ people," Tim corrected as Steph handed Cass the stack of plates. "I've met rich people who don't even know the difference between porcelain and faience."

Jason scrunched his nose. "What the hell is _faience_ _?"_

Tim looked at Steph. "See?"

She rolled her eyes. "Jason doesn't count."

Jason was stirring the pecans in the caramel with a spatula. He looked over.

"You're going to bully the guy making half your dinner? Is that _really_ a choice you want to make?"

Steph held her bagel between her teeth while she rooted around another cupboard for glasses. The crystal wine glasses they reserved for holiday dinners, of course. She couldn't talk without dropping her bagel so she simply settled on giving him her best apathetic look. Jason glared back at her.

"Fuck all of you," Jason said. "Damian, wanna help me? You're the _least_ insufferable here."

"We didn't do anything!" Duke exclaimed in outrage, still wiping hands covered in sticky pineapple on his apron.

"Complicit by association."

"By that logic, then Damian is also complicit," Tim added drily.

He'd hopped on a countertop and sat there, swinging his legs, and just generally being completely useless. Not if Steph could help that. 

She pointed at him. "Silverware, you useless lump."

Tim didn't complain, just rolled his eyes, but complied, hopping off the counter and reaching into a drawer.

"I have not been here long enough to be complicit in any of your petty squabbles," Damian snapped. "I will hopefully never be."

"What he said," Jason said, then frowned. "The first statement. Not the second."

Damian didn't comment, simply held up the saucepan over the pie crust while Jason scraped the sides with the spatula. Dick and Duke were clearly still halfway through making theirs, and Duke was clearly struggling with the instructions while Dick tried to hide his amused smiles. Steph piled the glasses in her arms, careful not to drop them, and she and Tim made their way to the largest dining room. 

The table looked half dressed. There were napkins and Cass was setting the plates, and there were already salad bowls and dressing, seasoning and the gravy boat next to the pitcher of water. The Kents were coming this year, as were Wally with his aunt and uncle, and both Kori and Roy were also coming over. Bruce had given them free rein to invite whoever they wanted, and Steph had a sneaking suspicion Selina, Bruce's not-girlfriend, was also coming over. She didn't drop by often for holidays, but did make guest appearances here and there, and never once missed a birthday or a Christmas. Maybe Bruce bribed her with Alfred the cat. At least, this many people meant a lower chance of Jason and Tim _really_ going at it, but it wasn't entirely ruled out.

"When Thanksgiving goes to hell, wanna share a bottle of Chardonnay?" she asked. 

Cass was carefully folding napkins over the plates and Tim was setting the forks and knives. They paused their tasks, Cass raising an eyebrow at Steph.

"Steph, we're nineteen," Tim said incredulously. "That's illegal."

 _Fancy._ Cass smirked.

Steph shrugged. "What can I say? Gotta live the dream. If I'm gonna get drunk to drown out my family during Thanksgiving, I intend to do it with _style,_ Cassandra."

"Steph, that's illegal," Tim repeated.

"Sorry, Mister Vigilante Who's Been Taking Down Bad Guys Since He Was Thirteen, what was that?" Steph blinked innocently at Tim.

Tim sighed. "I'll get drunk right alongside you if Jason starts yelling at me," he said dejectedly.

Steph patted his back, "That's the spirit!"

Tim smiled ruefully. "You might want to make that two bottles. It's Thanksgiving, and Jason's here."

Steph paused, half turned, ready to leave the dining room to fetch more glasses. Tim had loved Jason's Robin, that was no secret to anyone except Jason. He hadn't been there to see Tim gush about Jason all the time, showing the pictures he'd taken, the scrapbooks filled with information on Jason Todd, newspaper clippings about Robin's feats and shaky photographs. 'Don't meet your role models' and all that, as the saying goes. Maybe whoever said that was being serious. Though maybe the guy hadn't envisioned a fifteen year old's hero would try to murder him every other day.

Steph exchanged a sad glance with Cass, then looked back at Tim, who was staring intently at his hand, the one still holding a silver fork, as if expecting it to grow feathers.

"We can get two bottles," Cass said in her quiet voice. 

Steph wrapped an arm around Tim's shoulders like the good twin sister she was. 

"And we'll watch Mamma Mia to chase away any bad thoughts," she said, smiling brightly at Tim. "No one can stay in a bad mood when ABBA's playing."

Tim blinked and looked away, and neither girls mentioned it. Or how he swiped a hand under one eye furtively.

"Sorry," he said.

Steph merely smiled, guiding him towards the kitchen to grab more glasses with her. "No worries, Timbaroo. It's what sisters are for."

Tim ducked his head to hide the small smile and blush that crept across his face, and Steph felt pleased with herself. She turned her head back and gave Cass a thumbs up. Cass grinned back and went right back to folding her napkins. 

* * *

The Kents arrived first, at two thirty precisely. Damian had been sitting on a bar stool, watching Thomas and Drake engaging in a heated discussion about Schrödinger's cat. The original conversation had been Thomas complaining about his Pre-AP Physics teacher talking about quantum physics and had devolved into Drake and Thomas borderline arguing about the paradox of a cat. It was an entirely pointless argument, and yet Damian had found himself watching the two attentively. The doorbell ringing had interrupted the discussion.

"I got it!" Brown hollered, loud footsteps thundering audibly down the stairs even from the kitchen.

Thomas and Drake exchanged smiles as if they hadn't been about to start a whole debate in the kitchen.

"I bet it's Superman," Drake said.

Thomas snorted. "No way. Have you _met_ Iris? It's definitely Barry and Iris."

Drake snorted but turned to Damian. "Either way, you're meeting them." He pointed at Damian.

He scowled in reply. "Of course I will, you simpleton. We will be celebrating this ridiculous American holiday together."

Drake rolled his eyes, grabbing Damian's elbow, and dragging off his stool. Damian wrenched his elbow out, drawing his katana from its scabbard and pointing it at Tim.

"Grab me like that again and you lose your arm," he snarled.

Thomas stepped between Damian and Drake, his hands held up, as if Damian were a cornered wild animal. "Whoa, we're not gonna amputate anyone today, okay?"

Damian rolled his eyes, but sheathed his saber and followed Drake and Thomas out of the kitchen and towards the hall. Happy voices drifted their way from the hallway and they entered the entryway to see the new arrivals. Judging by the lack of red hair and Drake's groan and Thomas's grin, Damian guessed this was the Kent family. His father was talking animatedly with a dark haired man taller and larger than him, which in itself was impressive, a much shorter woman with brown hair stood besides him, smiling brightly.

And there were three new people and a white dog that Damian didn't recognize among all of his father's children that had rushed downstairs. The butler was attempting to rein the dog in to avoid having it knock over anything.

"Kon!" Drake called, launching himself at the tallest and clearly oldest of Superman's children.

Damian had no idea Clark Kent also collected children, though clearly had a significantly lower amount of them, thankfully. Drake was hugging the lanky boy that Damian had met that night at Haly's Circus. He looked almost exactly like Clark Kent, Damian could see, except for his skinny frame and gray eyes that belonged to neither Kent nor Lois. That night, he had been wearing a leather jacket. Today, he wore a different leather jacket and had at least three piercings in each ear. Damian was not surprised this is what Drake's boyfriend looked like. Honestly, what else should Damian have expected other than a spiked leather jacket and eyeliner? Drake was that ridiculous a person, and his significant other simply had to be equally as ridiculous.

Drake led Kon to Damian before he could realize what was happening.

"Kon, this is Damian," Drake said, one arm wrapped around Conner Kent's waist. "You haven't-- officially met." He coughed awkwardly.

Conner Kent grinned. "Happy to see you again, squirt."

Damian was thoroughly unimpressed. "I cannot say the same to you," he replied.

Kon shrugged, still smiling and unfazed, and Drake glared at Damian. 

"You haven't met anyone?" Drake's boyfriend went on, shoving a hand in the pocket of his jeans. "Great! I'll introduce you. Jon? _Jon?"_

He twisted around, waving someone over. A young dark haired boy materialized at Conner's elbow. Damian raised an eyebrow at Conner Kent.

"This is Jon," Conner said, patting the grinning boy's head, ruffling his already messy hair. "He's the biological son, like you." he laughed. "Makes us superior."

Drake rolled his eyes. "You're also adopted, dumbass."

"I'm a clone," Conner shot back. "Different things. I'm still superior. And the family dog is around here somewhere. Heard you liked animals. His name's Krypto." Conner looked at Jon, then at Damian, and his eyes widened as if he were suddenly struck by a sudden realization. "Oh, and Jon's around _your_ age, Dami. He just turned twelve."

"I am thirteen years old," Damian snapped. "And my name is _Damian._ Use it."

Jon stepped forward, cutting off his adopted brother's retort, his face split in a grin that showed off a missing tooth, hand outstretched. "Hi," he said brightly, adjusting his crooked glasses.

Damian stared at Jonathan Kent, his messy black hair, his crooked glasses, his cornflower blue eyes, his large smile and felt his heart do odd little somersaults in his ribcage. He pushed them aside angrily. 

"Hello," Damian said evenly.

Jonathan was bouncing up and down and Damian wondered if his parents had fed him five spoonfuls of sugar before coming here. Damian was ready to leave, seeing as how the others were already moving on with their conversations, superbly excluding Damian and Jonathan, prickling Damian's annoyance. 

"You've really been on the run for six years?" Jon asked before Damian could turn and walk away.

"Yes," he replied. "My mother sent me here to keep me safe, and I will not be staying."

Jon looked starstruck. "Wow. That's so cool! Was it like in the movies? With car chases and bad guys shooting at you from everywhere?"

Damian clenched his jaw. It had not, in fact, been like in the movies. It involved a lot of long flights, or car rides, constantly living on edge, expecting a sword around every corner, expecting every shadow to jump at you, leaving a city at a moment's notice at all times. It had been exhausting. Damian would never admit out loud that this past month and a half at the Manor have been the most peaceful he's had in years.

"No," he said. "It was not like--"

"You must be Bruce's son," Superman interrupted. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

He had his son's hair and eyes and wide smile. Damian was not fond of all this attention he was attracting.

"Of course," he said, glancing at Bruce, deep in conversation with Lois Lane, Duke hovering around him.

"How are you liking it here?" Clark asked, looking entirely at ease. Being a reporter, Damian figured, made one pretty at ease around anyone.

He scowled. "My father's children are insufferable and cannot seem to work together. It is utterly ridiculous."

Clark laughed at this, and Jon pouted a bit.

"I think they're really cool," he said, frowning.

"They are not. They are all idiots."

Clark cracked a smile, looking at Damian with something akin to amusement. Jon crossed his arms stubbornly.

"I think they work just fine together," he said. "I don't care what _you_ say."

"Jon," Clark scolded gently. 

The frown vanished, replaced by a sheepish grin. "Sorry."

Damian was already ready to ignore Jon the whole dinner. He did not want to spend anymore time around him, hating how he felt so-- weird around him. He couldn't waste time on other people. He would only put them all in danger, and his mother had told him it would get him killed. No attachments, she'd said. And she was right. Especially after Alexandria. 

That was before he was startled by Jon's loud gasp. 

"Oh my God! Is that a _sword?"_ he asked, rushing around Damian before he could react and reaching for the hilt. "That is _so_ cool. Can I hold it?"

Damian whirled around, gripping the hilt of his katana and drawing it, catching the attention of everyone in the hall. 

"Damian," Bruce said in a disapproving tone. "Please put the sword away."

"He has a sword?" Conner exclaimed, sounding betrayed. "And no one told me? Dude, can we _duel?"_

"Kon!" Tim hissed.

Jon, for his part, did not look the least bit intimidated, or even worried, like Lois and Clark clearly were. If anything, Jon looked even more amazed, his eyes fixed on the sharp steel blade, his fingers twitching as if he wanted nothing more than to touch it.

"Do not touch my katanas without my explicit permission," Damian hissed.

Jon's attention snapped to Damian. "So I can hold it?"

"No," Damian said icily.

Jon pouted and the doorbell rang again. Thomas reached the door first and it opened to reveal a blond man and a red haired woman, both clearly in their early thirties, and Wallace West standing there, all of them smiling. Bartholomew Allen and Iris West-Allen, no doubt. Allen carried a bottle of champagne and Iris had flowers. White lilies, Damian noticed.

Thomas stepped aside to let them enter, and Damian noticed more people behind them. At least this meant the whole party was here. There were Harper and Koriand'r, both dressed up for the occasion, talking idly to a tall woman with dark hair curled around her oval face in a long black dressed. Selina Kyle, if Damian had to assume. 

His father had approached Damian and placed a hand behind his back, gently guiding him towards the new arrivals to introduce them. Damian was not fond of meeting people. He was not fond of large groups of people in one place. It was the paranoia, probably, but it did not make him any more comfortable with it. He said nothing, despite that, and simply let Bruce guide him.

"Bruce!" Allen said, a smile breaking across his face, pulling Bruce in a quick hug. "Long time no see, man."

Damian's father smiled. "It's good to see you, too, Barry. And you, Iris. I hope you're well."

Iris smiled, one hand linked with West's, Damian saw. He had not noticed earlier. She was gripping his hand tightly, and his smile seemed halfhearted. Damian was well aware of Iris and Barry's custodial status of West, and it was not hard to jump to the conclusion that this had to somehow involve West's parents. They were not here, so Damian doubted this would worry them for too long.

"We're managing," Iris said. "It gets easier every year."

Bruce nodded understandingly, accepting the flowers she handed him.

"You must be Damian, right?" Barry asked, focusing on Damian, standing close to Bruce.

Bruce nodded, but was looking somewhere else, his eyes meeting Miss Kyle's and lighting up. Huh. The others had been right. Damian had barely spared a though on their gossiping on his and Kyle's relationship while they had been preparing the dinner in the kitchen.

"Yeah," he said. "His mother dropped him off for protection for a while."

Bruce was slowly edging away, ready to neatly sneak away and talk to Selina. Barry was extending a hand to shake Damian's, but he held up his sword, almost cutting off Barry's hand had he not withdrawn it immediately.

He chuckled, not nearly as fazed as Iris, who had paled significantly.

"I didn't know Bruce let his kids carry swords," he said, looking the sword over with interest.

Todd sighed. He was standing closest to them, caught in conversation with Kori and Harper. 

"He came with the sword," he told Barry in a flat tone, his face only slightly annoyed. "It was a package deal."

Barry laughed. "I'm sure it must be exciting around here."

"Not more than usual," Damian said, cutting off Todd before he could make a jab at him. "Todd and Drake are ready to tear each other apart at any given moment."

"Spilling family secrets so soon, tater tot?" 

Damian scowled. "It could hardly be called a family secret, Todd." He raised his swords, drawing out exclamations from Barry, Iris and Todd's partners. "And I would refrain from calling me tater tot if you value your eyes."

"Damian," Harper said diplomatically. "Can we maybe try to save the threatening for _after_ Thanksgiving? Please?"

Damian glared at a grinning Todd for a second longer before sheathing his sword. "All right," he conceded, turning around and storming towards the dining room.

Damian was sitting directly across from Conner, with his adopted brother next to him. Damian had learned more than he cared to know during the first two hours of the seemingly never ending dinner. He was already more than ready to take his leave. Drake had once mentioned to him he hated small talk. A lot of conversations that included Damian consisted of small talk, and Damian had found himself sharing Drake's opinion.

Jon was fully engaging him in conversations, and Damian kept trying to pull the conversation in the direction of the Kents' dog, Krypto, who had popped up a few times over the last two hours, as had Alfred the cat, but it was only to dart under the chairs and out the door again. Bruce had insisted Pennyworth sit down, at least for Thanksgiving. The butler had eventually relented, just for a few minutes.

Brown, sitting next to Damian, had leaned towards him and whispered to him that Pennyworth always agreed to eat with them on Thanksgiving and Christmas and the occasional birthday and never any other time, but that Bruce still asked. Damian had scoffed, but said nothing. It was clear that Pennyworth, from Damian's understanding, had raised his father when his own parents had been murdered.

"Where's your mom?" Jon asked.

Damian's gaze snapped from his glass of water to Jon's wide and excited blue eyes.

"I do not know," he replied. "She left me here to keep me safe. That is all I know."

Jon simply huffed, seemingly never deterred by Damian's clipped tone. Damian tried his best to be polite to him, as Bruce had specifically asked them to be on their best behavior for their guests, but he really wanted Jon to leave him be. Jon had seemingly already latched on to him, which both Drake and Thomas found adorable and had commented on it. They would definitely wake up with deep bruises on their arms, Damian had made sure to hit them hard enough.

He stabbed a piece of chicken on his plate. "Did you travel the world?" he asked.

Damian simply blinked. "Of course we did," he said, surprised that was not already a known fact. "There is nowhere the League cannot reach. Which is why we have to move so often."

"That must be lonely," Jon said. 

Jon was right, and Damian was never admitting that out loud. It had gotten very lonely, Damian looking out his window and seeing children play in the street, or scouting the neighboring streets around their safehouse and seeing parents holding their children, hugging them, smiling at them. 

"I suppose."

"Did you make any friends?" Jon asked. "How'd you go to school?"

Damian scowled. "I made no friends and I did not go to school. That would result in far more casualties than necessary."

Jon looked a little concerned and a little alarmed and remained silent, for which Damian was eternally grateful. Finally. Peace. He fiddled with his fork, stabbing it through bits of lettuce on his plate, not at all hungry anymore, despite knowing there were at least three different deserts still waiting to be brought out. He glanced up at Jon, who was trying to feed Krypto some of the chicken on his plate without being noticed by the adults. They were caught up in their conversations and laughing, so Damian doubted Jon really needed to worry about that.

If Damian hadn't been introduced to him as Superman's son, he would not have assumed he was his son. Not at first, at least. Jon was not an exact copy of his father, though he supposed Jon was still too young to bear too many striking resemblance to Clark Kent, unlike Conner. And even _that_ was a stretch, as half of Conner's DNA was Lex Luthor's, being evident in his gray eyes and sharp features. There was something quite mesmerizing about Jonathan Kent, and Damian did not like it. Just like he did not like how comfortable he had gotten around his father's children. 

"Penny for your thoughts?" Brown asked him.

Damian squinted at her. "I would never pay you to hear my thoughts."

She simply laughed and shook her head. "No, it's an expression. What's on your mind?"

Damian focused back on his salad. "Nothing."

Brown shrugged. "I think Jon likes you," she said. "He's fun to be around."

Damian frowned. "No. He is insufferable."

Brown cast Jon a glance, but Damian did not care if he heard or not. It was not an important secret to keep.

"I think he wants to be your friend."

Damian shrugged. "i cannot," he told her, his jaw locked. 

Brown dropped her voice, her hand lacing with Damian's comfortingly. He hated that it worked and eased the tension of his locked muscles.

"The League can't get you here," she reassured him softly. "Your mother is gonna kick their asses. And we're gonna help her take them down."

Damian looked her in the eyes and did not know what he hated more; that she truly believed that, or that he knew it was a lie even if she truly did believe it. It did comfort him knowing that, no matter how temporary his situation, his father's children wanted him around. It made his situation more bearable, he supposed. Though not by a lot.

"They can get me anywhere," he said.

He realized Brown was not smiling. She was looking at him with that defiant look in her eyes, the clenched jaw and jutted chin he'd drawn so long ago. "They can try."

They would, Damian was sure. And it would put everyone here, and everyone they knew at risk, and Damian simply was not worth that trouble. Maybe it was him trying to see how everything could go wrong, but it was a reflex at this point. If it could go wrong, there should be a solution, instead of ignoring it. Damian shrugged and Brown smiled at him.

"We're watching Mamma Mia when everyone leaves," she told him. "You're invited, because you worry too much and ABBA will fix that. It's not up for debate, gremlin."

He shrugged, pulling hand out of her grip and reaching for his glass of water, mainly to hide his smile. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i made Jon a year younger than Damian instead of 3 because i am god and i control canon


	10. Lima, Peru, one year ago

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> evermore emotionally compromised me

_Damian had just turned twelve. He had turned twelve in a dingy and run down apartment somewhere in Lima, in one of the poorer neighborhoods. His mother had gone out for most of the day, and had come back with a cheap birthday cake she had bought at the nearest store and a few candles, well past one in the morning. There was no kitchen table, so they both sat down at the coffee table and Talia had wished him happy birthday. There were never birthday gifts. Damian did not expect birthday presents._

_He was supposed to be asleep by now. His mother had retired to bed, and he knew she was a light sleeper. She wouldn't fully fall asleep until she felt his weight against hers, a comfort that he was still here, that no one had snuck into their room and taken him. Damian wasn't tired, however. He still sat at the coffee table, his legs crossed, and staring at the sliver through the curtains. There was the dull orange glow of a sodium-vapor lamp just across the street that cast a streak of orange down the length of the apartment._

_Damian was drawing on his used paper napkin, with only the dulled glow of streetlights to illuminate the drawing. But he drew mostly in the dead of night, on long train or plane rides when he and his mother would take turns pretending to sleep. The ballpoint pen was gliding easily on the napkin, Damian trying his best to avoid pressing too hard and ripping the fragile material._

_It was fall, November first as of a few hours, now. No longer October thirty-first even when he and his mother had lit the few candles on the cake, and yet the air was hot and stifling, though significantly cooler in the dead of night. It was, after all, only early spring in Peru. This had jarred Damian the first time they had gone to the Southern Hemisphere. He remembered it clearly. It had been Jakarta, when he had just turned nine years old. It had been a hot July day when he and Talia had climbed aboard the plane in Manama, and the dead of winter in Jakarta. Since then, it barely fazed him._

_He gazed at his drawing. It was a Ferris wheel._

_He set the pen down, his fingers still itching to draw more, but he didn't. He simply stared at the drawing sitting on the dark coffee table. The apartment was pitch black, the slit in the curtain doing almost nothing to light up the whole place. Damian did not like the dark. There were too many shadows that could be assassins, waiting, biding their time, waiting for the moment to jump out of the shadows and onto Damian. It had happened before. He had been ten at the time. His grandfather's men had jumped out of the shadows of the house when he came home, hands gripping his arms and torso, a calloused hand slapped over his mouth before he could even utter a single sound. His mother had tracked them, of course, and they'd fled into the night. Damian had nightmares for months. He had been unable to sleep with the lights off._

_He was living on borrowed time. And the thing about borrowed time was that it ran out. Talia had a way with words, twisting them to make lies sound like truths, to make lies not quite lies. Variations of the truth, she called it. She tried to twist her words around Damian, but he knew there would be a time Ra's would finally catch them. He just hoped that when Ra's did, he would kill him. It was the better option._

_"Damian," Talia said._

_He'd heard her step in the living room. He looked up._

_"I apologize, mother," he said. "I was not tired."_

_Talia sighed and sat down on the couch. "To be honest, I'm not feeling particularly tired, either."  
_

_Damian was short, for twelve. He had been short for eleven. He knew there was a low chance he'd hit a growth spurt at thirteen. An elderly neighbor in their San Francisco apartment complex had told him that no sleep would stunt his growth when she'd caught Damian coming home at one in the morning. He already knew that, and he had no time to waste on nosy neighbors._

_Damian wanted to talk to his mother, but he didn't know what to talk about. There was not much they said. They would usually talk about where they would go next, what their next plan was, who would provide them new fake ID's and passports. Occasionally, Talia would explain the history of the architectural style of certain buildings when they were out scouting the city for any signs of the League. He knew his mother loved architecture; it was more in the way she talked about it rather than showed it. Talia showed almost nothing, no emotion, no interest, at least none that were genuine. Suspicious and wary neighbors were the last thing either of them needed to worry about._

_"Tomorrow we will see Rodolpho for our new passports," she said, breaking the stillness._

_"Together?" Damian asked._

_He was sure Talia smiled in the darkness. "Yes. We can stop by the market on the way back. We are low on supplies and the car ride will be long."_

_They were leaving Lima in a week, and Damian was glad. The cramped apartment and sketchy neighborhood had done nothing to alleviate his growing paranoia._

_"We have a long day tomorrow," Talia said. "We should at least try to sleep."_

_Pretend to sleep. It's what they did most nights, but it was nice to know Damian was not the only one who lied about that. They always had long days and too little sleep. Nonetheless, Damian followed Talia to their shared bedroom, willing to pretend as he so often did about almost everything._

* * *

_Damian was being watched._

_Or at least, he thought he was._

_He always felt the prickling on the nape of his neck, as if someone were watching him, but that was besides the point. He felt_ watched. _It was near two in the morning and he had gone out to run an errand for his mother. At least that was the excuse. Talia had thought she'd seen a familiar face and they'd split up some four hours earlier, with Talia telling him not to go back to the apartment until she gave the all clear._

_Damian had simply wandered the city in the meantime, keeping to crowded streets and his head low. His mother had texted his burner phone half an hour ago to tell him he could go back to their safe house, and that she might not come back for another while._

_He felt watched when he opened the spray painted door of their complex. He felt watched when he silently climbed the stairs, making sure to avoid the steps that creaked. Their apartment was on the third floor, high enough that jumping out the window could result in only a dislocated shoulder if Damian twisted his body and rolled in time. When he made it to their landing, someone was standing there and Damian froze._

_The person, taller than Damian by a few inches, was standing on the doormat of the apartment next to his. It had to be their neighbor, but on account that Damian had never seen them before, and that the League could very well be in the city right now, the chances of that was about fifty percent. Maybe sixty, seeing as how the person couldn't be more than a year or two older than Damian and that Ra's never saw much point in sending out child soldiers before their training was complete._

_The boy looked up and grinned when he saw Damian._

_"You must be our new mysterious neighbor," he said, flicking the silver lighter on, a small flame coming to life. "You're home late."_

_Damian unfroze and simply shrugged. "My mother does not mind," he said in perfect Spanish._

_The boy shrugged. "Hope not. It's two in the morning."_

_Damian made his way to his door, pulling out his key._

_"I'm Sebastián," he said, grinning and extending a hand._

_Damian did not reach to shake it. "Dante Vega," he said. A new name was a necessity. He was only Damian around his mother. He was no longer an Al Ghul._

_Sebastián pulled his hand away. "Why you out so late anyway?"_

_Damian frowned. "I could ask you the same thing," he pointed out._

_"True. I'm waiting for my old man. He works late shifts sometimes."_

_Damian was only a little confused. "You are waiting outside for him?"_

_Sebastián cast Damian a sly grin. "Dad's got asthma. Can't smoke inside."_

_"Oh."_

_Sebastián reached in the back pocket of his jeans and pulled out a packet of cigarettes. He offered one to Damian, who simply stared at the packet until the other boy gave up and tucked it back in after pulling one out. He stuck it between his lips and flicked the lighter on. He took a few long drags and the acrid smell only made Damian wrinkle his nose slightly._

_"Your mom waiting for you?" he asked him._

_"No. She's working late."_

_Sebastián nodded. "Wanna go up to the roof with me? Just sit there? it's more comfortable than standing in the hallway."_

_Damian hesitated, wanting to accept the offer, but knowing exactly how his mother would react if she came home and Damian was not there. Worse if she caught him with a complete stranger. This conversation should not have happened in the first place._

_"Not for long," he warned, finally caving. "My mother will get home soon."_

_She would worry, and then she would go in a dark fury. He would just have to get back inside before she came home. Maybe ten minutes._

_Sebastián chuckled. "Yeah, sure. I gotta be there for my old man anyway."_

_With that, he marched to the window and pulled it open, the old hinges creaking loud enough that Damian cringed._

_"Don't the stairs lead to the roof?" he asked, knowing for a fact they did._

_Sebastián shot him a look. "Yeah, but it's locked."_

_He would have been able to pick that lock easily. But Dante Vega could not. And he was not Damian here, so he simply shrugged and followed Sebastián out the window and onto the rusty fire escape. They climbed and climbed, the escape creaking and clanging loud enough for Damian to feel uncomfortable and uneasy. He was being so loud, and every clang of his boots against the metal wound Damian tighter, like a spring. He breathed out in relief when his feet connected with the smooth concrete of the roof._

_He followed Sebastián to the edge of the roof and sat on the ledge next to him, crossing his legs where Sebastián let them dangle over the edge. Apprehension seized his chest and he realized how bad of an idea this really was._

_"I should go back," he said. "My mother will not be happy if I am not home when she comes back."_

_Sebastián rolled his eyes. "You_ just _got here," he complained. "Can't you sit just five minutes?"_

_"No." He shook his head._

_The other boy sighed and ran a hand through his curly black hair, as black as Talia's, but nowhere near the smooth waves of black shining like spilled petrol._

_"Fine. Wanna meet after school tomorrow?" he asked._

_That gave Damian pause. This was a very, very bad idea. Engaging in conversation was a bad idea, following Sebastián up here was a bad idea, and accepting to spend time around him was an even worse idea._

_He never regretted anything more than hearing the words that came out of his mouth. "Yeah. Why not?"_

_Sebastián grinned at him, and Damian noticed his dimples for the first time. "Awesome. Around four good for you?"_

_"I will have to ask my mother. It should be."_

_His grin didn't falter. "If she says yes, you know where I live."_

_Damian didn't reply, he simply made his way down the fire escape, hating himself more and more the further away he got. He was an absolute idiot and he was going to get an innocent person killed because he was lonely. He should not do this. It was selfish of him to seek a friend and willingly putting an innocent life at risk for any sort of company._

_He unlocked the door, feeling hollow inside. He was lonely. All he had was his mother, and he pretended that was enough, but he knew it was not. He was too good a pretender he sometimes fooled himself. He sighed. At least Talia was not home yet._

* * *

_Damian kicked at the gray gravel of the beach, his hands stuffed in his jacket pockets. The day was warm, but a strong wind blew from the beach, and blades and guns were more easily concealable with a jacket anyways. It did not matter how hot the day was, he never went out without any weapons to defend himself with. The wind whipped his dark hair in his eyes._

_Sebastián had tucked his hair in a baseball cap and was occasionally bending down to reach for a flat rock and skipping it on the waves. It didn't work, mainly due to the waves crashing against the rocky shore, but it did not deter him. He was wearing a shirt and cargo shorts, sharply contrasting Damian's threadbare jeans and jacket._

_He and his mother were supposed to leave tonight. Talia had found a night bus that would take them to another town where a contact had a private airstrip with a flight waiting for them. They were going to Australia, apparently. Damian had not told Sebastián yet, and he felt terrible for not telling him. He felt terrible for leaving the only friend he had made in years. The only normal contact to anyone who was not his mother or her strange and dangerous contacts. Sebastián was a relief for his normalness. Nothing like Damian's hectic life._

_Damian breathed in the salty air._

_"I love the sea," Sebastián said, hurling another rock at the horizon. The sun was bright._

_"I suppose it's fine."_

_Sebastián grinned at him. "I've always wanted to take a boat somewhere."_

_"Where to?" Damian raised both eyebrows._

_His friend shrugged. "Somewhere new, I guess. Somewhere no one knows who I am or where I come from."_

_Damian laughed at that, hoping it didn't sound as bitter as it felt. "Moving all the time isn't as romantic as everyone makes it sound," he said. "It gets lonely."_

_Sebastián shrugged. "It doesn't count with_ you _. You move all the time. I've never left Lima."_

_Damian smiled drily. "No, I suppose it doesn't count." His smile fell. "Look, I need--"_

_Suddenly, Sebastián looked up. "Oh, we're here. Come on!"_

_With that, he took off running towards jagged black rocks jutting from the rocky beach and the navy waves like the teeth of a giant. Damian ran off after him, calling at him to stop, that he needed to tell him something. Sebastián only laughed, carefree and grinning. He began climbing one of the giant rocks, the bottom slick with seaweed._

_"Hurry up! I gotta show you something," he called._

_Damian huffed, but followed after him nonetheless, climbing the side of the boulder easily and scrambling after Sebastián. The two edged along the more slippery parts and jumped from one boulder to another until Sebastián came to an abrupt stop, chest heaving._

_"Are we here?" Damian asked, barely breathing heavily._

_"Yup."_

_Sebastián sat on the rock and slid down carefully, dropping onto the gravel and gesturing at Damian to follow him. They made their way further down the boulder, the stone overhead pressing against another boulder, forming a tunnel into the rocks almost too narrow for Damian to fit through. The passageway widened into an almost circular shape. There were bottles and candy bar wrappers littering the gravel and makeshift rugs made of washed out beach towels on the ground._

_"A cave?" Damian asked._

_"No, a hide-out," Sebastián corrected him, sitting down against the wall.  
_

_He pulled out his pack of cigarettes and lit one. The light was dim, and the hide-out was lit up by the flickering light of the silver lighter._

_"Sebastián," Damian began, tucking his hands in his lap. "My mother and I are leaving tonight," he said. "I wanted to tell you, but--"_

_There was no time. There hardly ever was._

_Sebastián stared at him. "Tonight?" he echoed._

_Damian nodded. "I apologize for not telling you earlier."_

_His golden eyes pierced Damian's even in the dim light. "Where?"_

_Damian swallowed thickly. "America. My father lives there. We were planning to move there for a while, once he found a stable job."_

_A cruel voice repeated 'lies, lies, lies' to him, mocking him.  
_

_Sebastián's eyes bulged. "Wow, really?" he asked. "That's so cool!"_

_Damian shrugged a little helplessly and looked away. "I guess."_

_Sebastián hummed and sat back, too, and the two sat in silence, with only the sounds of the waves crashing against the shore and the cry of seagulls to hear. The sounds of cars were faint, but Damian could hear it if he strained his ear enough._

_"Have you ever thought about love?" Sebastián asked._

_Damian turned his head to see his eyes staring at Damian's. There was trust he did not deserve in them._

_"Not really," he said. "Maybe a little."_

_Sebastián smiled. "I think about it, sometimes. I found I wasn't like everyone around me. I mean, I like girls, and I've had a crush on a few, but I've also liked boys the same way."_

_It only took a second for it to compute to Damian that yes, his neighbor had just come out to him._ _He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He didn't want to imply that he was not okay with it, but Sebastián seemed to relax, so maybe Damian hadn't completely messed up._

_"Um..." Sebastián began. "I just....I just wanted to tell you before you left, I guess."_

_Damian finally found his voice. "I--Sebastián, I-- thank you."_

__Sebastián grinned and rubbed his neck self-consciously. "I also want to...give you something before you leave."_ _

__He had turned to face Damian fully, and Damian only had his head turned, which made it a little awkward when Sebastián leaned forward quickly and kissed Damian on the lips before pulling away almost immediately. Damian's lips and fingers were numb, but he managed to grab Sebastián's arm, making him pause. He looked at Damian and leaned forward again._ _

__Sebastián's lips were soft, and the kiss tasted acrid from the nicotine and salty from the ocean, but Damian didn't completely hate it. Sebastián pressed forward and Damian tipped backwards, catching himself with his hands, pulling himself out of the kiss. He and Sebastián looked at each other before Sebastián started laughing._ _

__"I really wasn't expecting this," he said, still laughing, shaking slightly._ _

__Damian smiled faintly. He definitely had not either. "It was a pleasant surprise."_ _

__Sebastián laughed again. "Should we head back?" he asked. "You said we had till three, right?"_ _

__Mutely, Damian accepted his hand and was hauled to his feet. He felt numb and cold all over. It was a very, very bad thing, what he'd just done, but the worry was distant. He was still in shock he'd actually been kissed. He never thought he'd ever have...well, that. Certainly not a crush, and definitely not a kiss. His cheeks burned and he struggled with keeping a smile at bay. When Sebastián reached for his hand, he accepted it._ _

__His mother was waiting at the door when Damian and Sebastián came back. Her arms were crossed and she looked furious. Damian ripped his hand out of Sebastián's, his good mood crumbling into guilt._ _

__"Inside," she hissed, face dark, before spinning on her heels and storming inside._ _

__"You gonna be okay?" Sebastián asked quietly._ _

No _ _, Damian wanted to say. Whatever Talia would say, it would be bad. It was always bad when Talia got angry at him when he didn't follow her instructions. And he had broken so many of them in the span of a few days.__

__"Yes," he said. "Good bye."_ _

__"See you later," Sebastián said._ _

__Damian shut the door behind him and trudged slowly to the living room where Talia was standing. The apartment was as empty as it had been when they'd first arrived._ _

__"Damian, you know we can't stay," Talia said in a low voice, shaking either from anger or worry. It was all she felt nowadays. There were rarely any positive emotions. "You know getting attached makes things worse."_ _

__Damian shrunk back. "Yes, mother. I-- I apologize. It won't happen again."_ _

__Talia crossed the room and slapped him across the face hard enough that his head snapped to the side. "Damn it, Damian, we can't be dealing with this today!"_ _

__Damian didn't move a muscle, unable to find the words to express how sorry he was. "I'm sorry, Mother."_ _

__The bus left at half past eleven. Damian and Talia had left at six. Damian was thankful to finally be able to sit for three hours and for the following sixteen hours in the plane to Sydney. His body was sore and he had no desire to carry his bags with his heavily bruising arms. His face had been relatively spared, with only a bruise on his cheek and his split lip, but a few minutes in a bathroom stall had shown the bruises were starting to show all over his body._ _

__It was his own fault, really. Talia was stressed enough as it was, and Damian had broken the number one rule. Friends slowed them down, made them lower their defenses. Damian had been stupid, letting his emotions get the better of him._ _

__He shoved his bags under his seat and sat back with a sigh, Talia staring at every passenger climbing aboard the bus. Damian turned his head to stare out the window absently, ignoring the faint throbbing in his arms. He'd be wearing long sleeves for a long days, but he knew this would never happen again. Slip-ups were inexcusable. Especially when they could get you killed._ _

__He shut his tired eyes when the bus lurched forward and down the dark road lit up orange. It was quiet in the bus with only the wheezing of the air conditioning._ _

* * *

_Their trip to Sydney had not lasted long._

_The League was waiting for them when they left the plane and ambushed them the second they stepped off the plane. A smoke bomb flew at them and both Damian and Talia pulled their shirts over their faces when it blew almost on instinct. Immediately, a group of twenty or so assassins rushed forward, their katanas raised._

_Damian vaulted over the railing and landed on the tarmac smoothly, pulling two sai from his jacket, discarding his bags in the process. There was nothing of real value in them, anyways._

_Three assassins surrounded him. He ran at them, leaping forward and planting one of them in his heart. Using the momentum, he propelled himself out of the reach of the other two. He pulled out a shuriken and aimed it for the farthest assassin, hitting him directly in the eye. He raised his sai, ready to parry with the last assassin, when a sword pressed against his throat, the sharp cold metal drawing blood._

_He knew who that sword belonged to._

_"Slade Wilson." he snarled._

_"Well, well, well," Slade's deep voice rumbled. "Look what the cat dragged in."_

_"Let me go and maybe I will spare your other eye the same fate as your first one."_

_The blade pressed deeper, the cut deepening, not dangerously so yet, but close. It would definitely scar. His only comfort was that the blade was thin enough that it would be barely noticeable._

_"Keep talking boy, and I will not be taking you back to Ra's unscathed."_

_Damian scoffed. "Do not bother lying to me, Wilson."_

_Slade simply laughed. "Drop the blades, kid," he said. "You're beat."_

_Damian dropped the blades, hearing them clatter on the tarmac. A thin blade he kept in the sleeves of his jacket slid into his hand in their place._

_"Not today, Slade," he said, driving the blade into Slade's side with one hand and grabbing the blade with the other, pushing it away with one swift movement and ducking out of the assassin's grasp._

_He wiped the blood from his palm and dragged his sleeve under his throat, wincing at the slight twinge of pain. He didn't bother fighting Slade, just pulled out more blades and descended on the assassins, trying to make his way to his mother._

_"Mother!" he called and her head_ _jerked in his direction, making it clear she was listening. "Slade Wilson is here."_

_She faltered for only a second, barely noticeable. She lost her footing, but caught herself by planting her foot on an assassin's chest and shoving him away. She looked around quickly, eyes locking with Slade's, then Damian's, her brown face almost white. She shoved past the remaining assassins and grabbed a fallen katana and ran it through the assassin Damian had been fending off._

_Talia grabbed his arm and tugged him along, both of them breaking out into a sprint towards the small building. A car had been waiting for them, Talia had said. Hopefully it was still here. It did not matter if the driver himself was, all that mattered was that Talia and Damian had an exit._

_"I will find you," Slade bellowed, his voice faint the further they ran. "Mark my words, I will be the one bringing you to Ra's."_

_Damian felt a shiver run down his spine as his mother pulled the door open and they slipped inside. Talia barricaded the door, though it wouldn't hold the assassins back for long, not when it was the League. It didn't matter. It bought them time. Any second they could buy was more than enough time._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's december and i am extremely stressed about college and college applications and all that fun stuff, so if i take longer to update or go missing for a month, no need to worry, i'll come back :)
> 
> (also if this chapter is all over the place, it's bc i'm so tired and stressed. i'll edit it. eventually. maybe.)


	11. 'Tis the Damn Season

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy new year! and let's hope for a very uneventful year this time

"I have wonderful news!" Bruce said as he walked into the kitchen.

"You're finally gonna put us all back up for adoption?" Jason asked, not looking up from where he was shredding a paper napkin.

Bruce frowned. "No," he said slowly. 

"Then I don't want to hear it," Jason said.

"What is it, Bruce?" Tim asked, much more politely.

"I finally got the custody papers sorted out," Bruce said, brightening up once again.

Everyone in the kitchen froze. Even Alfred glanced up from where he was making pancakes and waffles. Duke almost choked on his own water at Bruce's sudden announcement. There were a limited number of people not fully in Bruce's custody, and only two were sitting at the table. He glanced at Damian, who had gone stiff as a board in his seat, his hand shaking slightly where it was holding a spoon.

"Custody papers?" Dick finally asked, still holding the can of Reddi-wip over his waffles.

"For Damian," Bruce explained. "It was taking forever to even get to meet someone to work it out since Damian apparently doesn't have a passport or a birth certificate, so there was _a lot_ of paperwork to get through, but I finally got the papers--"

"B," Jason interrupted the man's rant.

Bruce cleared his throat. "Right. Damian," he turned to the boy in question, smiling radiantly, "if you want, all we need is for you to sign the papers."

Damian looked like he wasn't even breathing, his face noticeably paler. "Custody papers?" he asked in a strangled voice. "What about my mother?"

"It's a partial custody," Bruce assured him. "You don't have to sign if you don't want to."

Damian looked so uncomfortable and lost, eyes bewildered and baffled, the way they get when anyone treats Damian like he matters to them. It's fucking depressing. Duke feels like he's intruding something personal so he looks at Dick, hoping to get him to understand. Dick catches his stare and is snapped out of his stupor.

"Jason," he calls. "Pancakes or waffles?"

He scoffed. “I’m pansexual. Choosing pancakes over waffles is, like, a moral obligation.”

Everyone tried to go back to their conversations and activity, but Duke caught the furtive glances towards Bruce and Damian.

"I am not going to _stay,"_ Damian said again, voice not quite as strong as his statement. "Why would I need to sign papers giving you custody of me?"

"Because I want you around," Bruce said, sorrow outlining his words. "I want you to be safe here. Ra's wouldn't dare touch you if the world knew I had a biological son."

Damian's mouth closed and he blinked quicker than necessary. Duke's heart hurt for him. He was literally thirteen, and he was surprised people genuinely acted like they cared about him. Bruce made mistakes and wasn't perfect, sure, but Duke still felt loved by the guy. He always made time for his children, and here was a kid, _Bruce's_ kid, showing up out of the blue, having known more tragedy and violence than gentle care. It was funny at first, seeing how all of Bruce's kids shared the collective trait of having led a tragic life before Bruce decided to take them in and fix them. Now it was just sad. He could see why Bruce took in so many kids, to give them all a chance at happiness. 

"I suppose to keep Ra's off my trail it would be...of use," Damian said. "My mother's hard work wouldn't be a waste."

Bruce brightened, if only a little. A single ray of sunshine through a heavy, cloudy sky.

"I suppose that means you'll be attending the winter charity gala?" he asked.

Steph groaned. "Fuck, I forgot that was this week."

"What was this week?" Dick asked, setting a plate of pancakes in front of Jason and one of waffles in front of Cass.

"The charity gala," she replied calmly, picking up her fork and knife.

Dick blinked. "Wait, when? Isn't that on the twelfth?"

"It was moved to the sixth," Tim replied, reaching for the syrup when Alfred came back with Tim and Duke's plates of waffles. "We had to take into account the guests leaving for the holidays, and the twelfth, it turns out, was cutting it a little too close."

"It's creepy when you talk like that," Jason said.

Tim looked up, nonplussed. "Like what?"

"Like a CEO," Jason replied. "You're literally nineteen. Speak like an adolescent, for fuck's sake."

Tim shared a look with Duke, sitting on his right. 

"Says the twenty-one year old who had an entire argument with a bot on Camus, or something," Tim retorted.

Jason scowled. "It was Sartre, first of all, and we were supposed to never mention that ever again."

"I can count on one hand the amount of people I know who even know Sartre's name," Tim continued. "One. It's you."

Steph laughed, drowning her newly arrived chocolate chip pancakes in maple syrup. "I'll be honest, Jason's face when he found out he'd been arguing for an hour about existentialism with a software application is something I will cherish forever."

Duke grinned. "I don't think he's ever gotten that angry in at least a year. I really thought he was going to commit murder."

"I guarantee I will commit murder if we don't drop this." Jason scowled, stabbing his fork into his pancakes.

Alfred came back in the kitchen and set a plate and coffee in front of one of the empty chairs, nodding at Bruce.

"Thank you, Alfred," Bruce said, taking a seat and returning his attention to Damian. "Will you attend the charity gala?"

Damian looked at his almost untouched plate. Duke had started noticing how little the kid actually ate, which had only slightly alarmed him, especially with how much he trained every single day without fail. It was-- honestly, it was distressing and really made Duke want to kick the ass of every adult who raised him.

"I suppose," he said thoughtfully. "Though the downside would be that Ra's and the League would immediately know where I am," he said. "It could both lower the risk of me getting kidnapped and heighten the risk of you getting hurt by the League."

Duke hated that it made sense, because if there was one thing he didn't want to do, it was let Damian go. 

He was saved from arguing back by a snort from Steph.

"Let them try," she said drily. "I'd love _nothing_ more than to see the Justice League kick their asses."

"They most definitely will try," Damian replied darkly. "The League of Assassins is not one to abandon assets."

There was silence, and Duke didn't know how the others interpreted it, but he interpreted it as completely horrified silence. Damian saw himself as an asset, and Duke had murder on his mind. He was usually not one for violence, but he was ready to set a grandpa on fire.

"Don't sweat it, kid," Jason said. "Galas aren't all they're cracked up to be. When I say B is the most tolerable person attending them, I mean that in the most offending way possible."

"Thank you for that, Jason," Bruce said wryly, giving Jason an unamused look.

"No problem." Jason shoved an entire pancake in his mouth, syrup dribbling from his mouth.

Tim and Duke made disgusted sounds at the same time.

"You are disgusting," Tim said.

"Have you seen Steph eat?" 

Unfortunately for Jason, there was a fruit bowl in the center of the kitchen table, and Steph was within reach of it. Duke watched her grab an apple and toss it at Jason. It hit him in the temple and he yelled, either in pain or surprise, Duke couldn't tell. He picked up the maple syrup and Duke just knew what he was gonna do with it. He braced himself, ready to duck under the table.

"Kids, no fighting at breakfast please," Bruce said tiredly.

"You are all ridiculous and are making fools of yourself," Damian snapped. "Have some self-control."

Surprisingly, Dick was the first one to laugh. He was usually quiet at breakfast, helping Alfred and Jason make breakfast and sit apart from them, listening but rarely joining in. And he usually joined in to break up fights. 

"You have no idea how much you sounded like Selina just now," he laughed.

Cass pouted. "Do not be mean," she said. "Sel never called us fools."

"And she would never do so," Tim added wisely. "She loves us too much."

Something brushed past Duke's legs and he almost jumped an yelled when he realized it was just Alfred the cat. What gave it away was the tremors he felt up his leg as the cat started purring. 

"Talking about Selina summoned the cat, y'all," Duke said, scooting his chair back and bending down to pick up Alfred.

Cass leaned over Tim to scratch Alfred behind the ears. She loved this cat, and Duke had to admit it was adorable, seeing her and Damian, both literal assassins, melt in front of the tiny cat. Not so tiny anymore as the weeks crawled on. Tim said nothing, just leaned back and casually pulled out his phone and let Cass stroke Alfred and murmur soft words to him. Duke glanced at Damian, and saw a weird expression on his face; a sour look, but he could've sworn there was sorrow in it. 

"I'd give you the cat, but--" Duke trailed off, nodding at the cat purring contentedly in his arms and Cass all over him.

Damian shrugged. "I do not mind. He is well cared for." He turned to Bruce. "I will attend the gala if you wish."

Bruce shook his head vehemently. "Jason's right. It can be-- a lot," he said. "If you don't want to go, you don't need to."

Damian scowled, his body tensing defensively. "I will attend," he said, standing up. 

He left the kitchen quickly and Cass stood up.

"I will go talk to him," she said, giving them a smile shadowed by understanding.

If anyone here knew how Damian felt, it was the only other person raised and molded to be a weapon by the League of Assassins. Duke watched her go.

"Fuck," Jason sighed once she was out of sight, scrubbing his face. "Why the fuck do you have to pick the basket cases and social rejects every _single_ damn time?" he snapped in Bruce's direction. 

Bruce frowned, but said nothing. Jason's question _sounded_ rhetorical, and Duke knew Jason was smart enough to know exactly why. It took Duke a long time it to figure it out himself. When Bruce adopted him after his parents were driven insane, he'd thought it had been out of pity, then eventually he'd thought it was because Bruce saw the potential for yet another vigilante. It wasn't either of those, it was to give them at chance at having a somewhat decent childhood despite the trauma, despite everyone else having already given up. 

"Would anyone else want more pancakes or waffles?" Alfred asked.

Duke glanced at Damian's plate, not even half empty.

"Oh, hell yeah," Steph said. "Thanks, Alfie."

Alfred raised a pale eyebrow. "It is no problem, Miss Stephie."

Steph grinned. "See? He's hilarious."

Bruce smiled into his coffee. "For British Intelligence," he said cryptically.

Duke was pretty sure Jason's water spilled out of his nose as well as his mouth. He coughed and Tim cackled.

"Alfred was _what?"_ he demanded.

"Honestly, I'm not even surprised Alfred used to work for MI6," Dick said offhandedly, tracing the rim of his ceramic cup. "I've seen what he can do when he's angry."

"Yeah, it was kinda obvious Alfred worked for the government," Duke added as calmly as he could, deciding to save his questions for later; confusing Jason was much better.

Jason glared at all of them, wiping water off his chin. "Alright, be assholes about it. I have a boyfriend and girlfriend waiting for me at home."

He stood up, rolling his jacket's rolled up sleeves back down.

"Hey," Bruce said. "Are you going to the gala?"

Jason scowled and rolled his eyes. " _Someone_ has to keep all of you idiots safe from wannabe elitists."

"And who better than the murderous psychopath, right?" Tim asked sarcastically.

"You can scratch the psychopath part out," Jason said cheerfully. "I am fully aware of what I'm doing."

Tim smiled tightly. "Trust me, I know."

"Jason, why don't you come with me and Cass?" Steph asked suddenly, and Duke silently thanked her for saving them from another argument. "We're gonna drag Damian out with us to go shopping because he seriously needs clothes. He has five shirts total, and three of them are long sleeved. I counted."

Jason blinked. "Why me?"

"You don't really have a choice."

"Gee, that's reassuring."

Steph stood up and swiftly pulled Jason along, though Jason wasn't complaining much. At least, not enough that Duke got the idea he was fully opposed to the idea of going shopping. Steph paused long enough to tell Alfred to put her pancakes aside for later and then dragged Jason out of the kitchen.

Duke watched them go, then looked at Tim, who was staring at Damian's seat.

"We got attached," he said. 

Duke huffed a laugh, picking up his empty mug. "We sure did. And boy are we going to regret it."

Tim glanced at Dick, helping Alfred make pancakes and waffles out of the remaining batter, and then at Bruce, gazing at the papers in his hand, though didn't seem to be reading them. He seemed galaxies away.

"I think the problem with adopting problem kids is that somewhere, somehow, something's gonna go wrong," Tim sighed.

Duke sighed. "Stop being so cynical."

"Sorry. I'm just--"

"It's the truth. I know."

"We can't stop things going wrong," Tim said, almost sadly.

That didn't stop Duke wishing he could stop things from going wrong. None of them deserved any of this. None of them had deserved getting hurt bad enough they'd taken up vigilantism to stop anyone else from getting hurt, too. In a way, it seemed almost bitterly ironic that they all tried to stop people from getting hurt when they were the first to know that there was no real way to stop it. Life gave you good and bad things, and sometimes gave you things that were neither good nor bad, and you just had to take it, and let it change you for the better. Make you wiser, or something, Duke supposed. Wisdom usually came from experience that was seldom good.

"The point was never to stop things going wrong," Bruce said, reminding Duke that he was still in the room. He hadn't thought the big man had been listening to them. He'd looked so lost in thought. "The point is to fix things. Fix people."

Duke snorted. "That sure seems to be going well for us, huh?"

He laughed a little, not really sure why. It wasn't funny, it was honest to God sad as fuck. 

"We're one hell of a bunch, aren't we?" he asked, glancing around at the others.

Bruce was still thoughtful, Dick hadn't moved from his position leaning against the counter, staring hard at his mug, Alfred was wrapping the stack of pancakes and waffles in plastic wrap. Duke was still stroking the cat in his lap, running his hands through his impossibly soft fur. And Tim-- Tim's face bore an expression that Duke couldn't explain, but an expression hurt his heart nonetheless. There were so many emotions flashing across his face, though Duke shouldn't be surprised to see betrayal there.

Tim and Duke were okay. They were quite close, as they both liked messing around with electronics, trying to build things together, like that time they'd worked for months trying to make a functioning lightsaber. And grew closer when Tim had dragged Duke into his room and forced him to watch Attack on Titan with him (he'd apparently done that with everyone in the manor, but Duke was the only one who truly enjoyed it enough to keep watching with him).

Despite their close relation, Tim hasn't opened up to him that much. He hasn't opened up to any of them. Actually, none of them are too open about a lot of things. Duke would definitely consider himself the most open about his issues, which is saying a lot. Steph made jokes, which was a step up from punching anyone at the mention of her father's alter ego. Jason was starting to make jokes, too. Very, very, _very_ morbid jokes that made them all laugh except Bruce and Alfred. Tim and Cass still refused to open up, though.

Duke really should refrain from making comments like these. Honestly. 

Tim abruptly stood up. "We are," he said tersely. "I'm going out."

"Where?" Dick asked, looking up, eyes wide in surprise. Out of all of them, Dick was the most expressive.

Tim's shoulders jerked in a rapid shrug. "Who cares?"

Tim stood up and walked out of the kitchen. No one stopped him, because no one ever did. 

Duke glanced at Bruce, then at Dick, both pointedly avoiding eye contact with each other.

"Anyone want to make hot chocolate and watch the Polar Express with me?" he asked, taking an initiative neither of them would take. He could push back his usual patrol to the early afternoon. It was Saturday, after all.

Damian couldn't be the only one allowed to fix this shattered family.

Dick cleared his throat. "Uh-- sure, I guess. I'll make hot chocolate. I think we have BBQ chips."

Duke grinned. "That's perfect. Let's get in the holiday spirit. Wanna watch with us, Alfred?"

The butler smiled. "I apologize, Master Duke, but I am unfortunately unavailable."

Duke frowned but didn't insist. "Bruce? You coming?"

Bruce smiled at Duke and reached over to ruffle his hair. "Of course I am. I wouldn't miss it for the world."

He grinned up at Dick, who replied with a hesitant smile. Baby steps. 

* * *

"I am sorry. You want to take me _shopping?"_ Damian asked, incredulously. "Why?"

Steph beamed at him, Cass was sitting on the edge of his bed across from Damian. Jason and Steph had barged in, interrupting whatever the two were talking about. It seemed to be going well based on the fact that Damian's body wasn't coiled as tight and taut as before and he had only flinched when the two entered his room instead of leaping for his katana propped against the bedside table or the knife tucked under his pillow. 

"Because you own five shirts and they're all disgusting," Steph said, her nose scrunching up. 

Damian scowled at this, taking full offense. "The clothes I own are perfectly adequate. There is no pressing need to buy new ones."

Steph rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. "They have _holes_ in them. Your jeans look like they're one wash away from becoming transparent. _That's_ what I call pressing, yes."

Cass looked amused. Damian did not look convinced. Jason knew that Steph would not be above physically dragging him to the mall, which would inevitably end up with her spending the night in the medbay. 

He sighed. "Look, you want to get out of the house, so just come shopping," he said. "Jesus, the clothes won't eat you. And if Ra's shows up, you can consider it today's sparring session and my excuse for a night off."

Damian looked more convinced. Jason was surprised it hadn't involved even a little bit of threatening, honestly. Maybe Dick was right and he really was starting to warm up to them. 

"All right," Damian conceded. "I suppose I will need a new winter coat."

Jason and Steph exchanged sly looks. Right. _Just_ a winter coat. 

"We can't buy it if you're not ready to go to the mall," Jason said. "You have to get dressed."

"Do _not_ patronize me, Todd. Leave my room."

Jason grinned, but followed Cass and Steph outside, Damian's bedroom door slamming behind them.

 _Who's going to pay_ _?_ Cass asked.

Jason whipped out one of Bruce's credit cards from his jean pocket. "Bruce is a very generous benefactor," he said sweetly, placing a hand over his heart. "Always willing to give to the poor."

Cass grinned. 

"That reminds me," Jason said. "We need to buy you more color. Black on black is fine, but let's try to spice things up a bit, hm?"

"No," Cass said curtly.

Steph sighed, drawing her jacket tighter around herself. "Don't bother. I've had this conversation before. She likes black."

The door opening interrupted the conversation and out stepped Damian, dressed in a long-sleeved navy shirt and his threadbare jeans. Jason wasn't sure Damian owned more than one pair of pants. 

"Are we ready to go?" he asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

Jason had meant what he said at breakfast. They were taking in the kids with the worst background every time, but he wouldn't give any of them back, not even Damian. Maybe the Replacement. That was a lie. That didn't matter. He lied to himself too often to really care at this point what it was about. He had to admit that Damian-- maybe wasn't the worst thing that had happened. Maybe it was a good thing he'd been dumped on Bruce's doorstep. 

" _I'm_ ready," he said. "Are you two ready?"

Steph leveled a glare at Jason. "Yes," she bit out. "I'm driving."

Jason sneered. "I call shotgun."

Steph grimaced. "No. Cass is sitting shotgun. I don't want you sitting next to me."

"Ex- _cuse_ me?" Jason asked, affronted.

"Store!" Steph called, jogging down the hall towards the front door.

Cass followed after Steph at a leisure pace, a smile on her face. Jason shook his head, fighting off a smile, and cast a glance at Damian. His face was still so carefully blank, never once betraying emotion, but training under the League of Assassins made Jason especially perceptive to the ways bodies betrayed emotion. The kid's face may be blank nd expressionless, but his posture wasn't stiff and tense-- it was relaxed. Oh yeah. The kid was _definitely_ warming up to them.

"Guess you're stuck with me in the backseat," Jason said, waiting for Damian to start walking just to make sure the little shit didn't vanish at the first opportunity. If he did, it would suck to be him because Jason would still buy him a bunch of clothes.

The mall was way too far from Bristol. Jason didn't mind car rides, except when it was with Steph who liked eighties music of all the horrible things anyone could like. Which meant half an hour of David Bowie and U2. It was the official rule that whoever was driving got to pick the music. It had both prevented arguments and started plenty. At least nowadays they didn't spend the entire car ride arguing about whose songs they were going to play next.

They thankfully pulled up into an empty parking spot before the lyrics of Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go could kick in-- a good thing, as Jason was sure he would make it everyone's problem if he got the lyrics stuck in his head.

It suddenly occurred to Jason that him, Steph and Cass might not be the best choice of people to bring Damian shopping-- both him and Steph had grown up poor and they both still automatically went for the cheaper clothes and Cass didn't really care as long as the colors were dark and the clothes were well-fitting and flexible. Being raised by the League and then being on the run made Jason doubt the kid would really care what they bought for him, but Jason still felt the kid would judge him. For a thirteen year old barely over the five foot marker and just shy of being underweight, he could be very judgmental when he wanted. It was hilarious and slightly terrifying-- not even Jason had been this intimidating at his age. 

Then again. Jason had been living on the streets-- not raised by the League of Assassins and then chased relentlessly by them. 

"We should hit up Target first," he said.

They were cheap and they sold good shit. Jason wasn't passing up the opportunity to buy useless trinkets himself. Maybe a new set of headphones for Roy.

" _Yes!"_ Steph said, pumping her fist.

Jason raised his eyebrows. "Someone's excited."

He let out an involuntary sigh when they passed through the automatic doors and out of the glacial late November air. The whoosh of warmth that blew over Jason's face felt like heaven.

The mall was already decorated for the holidays, with bright Christmas lights twisted around the pillars, huge light-up Christmas stars were hung from the ceiling and from where they stood, Jason could see the giant Christmas sitting in the center of the mall, where the mall branched off in different sections. He knew there was an ice rink somewhere, but Jason wasn't one for ice skating. 

They walked past large groups of people, trying their best to steer clear of them-- Damian had expressed his discomfort around large crowds at Haly's. Jason doubted Dick or Tim had picked up on it, but he definitely had.

The moment they entered the mall Target, Steph started steering Cass away from the clothes section.

"Hold on a second," Jason said. They were _not_ leaving him alone with Damian. "Where do you two think you're going? You dragged my ass over here, you have to _stay_ with us."

Steph made a face. "Aw, we were just gonna check out the scented candles."

Jason turned to Cass. "You have enough scented candles, _Cassandra,"_ he said. "I can smell them from my room."

Damian was scowling, standing further away, not quite apart from them, but not close enough to be a partaker in the conversation. 

_"I'm sure you can handle Dami,"_ Cass signed.

Jason paused, raised an eyebrow, and fought back a smirk. Oh, he would be so petty about this.

"You're seriously going to trust _me_ to find suitable clothes for Damian?" he asked, smiling. If they did, he would make damn sure they regretted it.

Cass hesitated and Steph glowered.

"You are an asshole," she snapped, grabbing Damian's arm and dragging him along with her towards the children's clothes.

"Do _not_ touch me," Damian spat venomously, wrenching his arm back with enough force Jason thought it would dislocate Steph's arm. 

Steph barely blinked, simply letting him go with a simply huff of frustration-- they were used to Damian's thorny and surly character.

"You brought this upon yourself, you know," Jason called after her as he followed after her, Cass falling in step with him. A few head turned at his loud voice. "You're the one who wanted to bring him shopping. You dug your grave, now lie in it."

Damian cast a flat glance at him when they stopped in the shirt section. "I am glad to see you hold a high opinion of my presence here, Todd," he said mildly.

Jason was sure the kid was smirking. It gave Jason about ten seconds of stupefaction-- the kid was being _sarcastic_. This was _wonderful_ \-- before scoffing.

"You get used to it, shrimp."

The nicknames about Damian's height drove the kid up the fucking wall, and Jason did love pushing people's buttons. He couldn't help himself. He only grinned when Damian drove his elbow in his kidney sharply and bit back another comment.

"I think this shirt looks nice," Steph said, poking her head over a rack and holding out a Superman shirt.

Jason was expecting the kid to roll his eyes at the shirt and complain about its simplicity, but he simply accepted it and checked the size.

"This is one size too large," he said, shoving the shirt in Jason's chest.

Jason barely had time to catch it before the kid let it go and turned his attention to the long-sleeved shirt rack. He checked the size. A children's large. He carelessly hung it back onto the rack and began looking around, hanging near Cass and chatting her up or just showing her a funny shirt with a stupid pun.

The Target haul was successful. Two hours later the four of them walked out of the store carrying three plastic bags holding two new pairs of jeans, four shirts and two new jackets. They'd also bought a plastic succulent and a birthday card for Dick's upcoming birthday as well as three CDs and a new pair of black and red headphones for Roy, but those weren't as important. It wasn't like Cass didn't buy a new fake plant to add to her collection every time they went to Target.

Cass dragged them over to the food court to get burgers and maybe ice cream. Damian immediately went to the fast food joint that made falafel and Jason caught him in time to hand him a ten dollar bill to pay, not particularly in the mood to have to deal with the kid threatening the workers.

They'd eaten their quick lunch at a table closest to the giant Christmas tree, under the domed glass ceiling and had a free view of heavy gray clouds promising hail or snow before checking out a few more stores. 

Damian was checking out the scarf section at an H&M when Jason pulled the girls aside to talk to them.

"I want to buy Damian a phone," he said bluntly.

Cass studied his face carefully and Steph did a double take.

"A phone?" she hissed out, lowering her voice unnecessarily-- the din of voices and their short distance from Damian was enough to drown out their conversation fully.

"Yeah," he said, trying his best to avoid getting defensive. "Kid might need it, honestly, and I like the idea of him having our numbers in case--"

In case the League showed up. In case Ra's managed to kidnap him. In case anything happened to him. In case he thought they would just forget about him if Talia did come back for him.

Cass reacted first. "Good idea," she said, nodding. "Safer."

Jason smiled. "Kid definitely needs help accepting the fact that we are now and forever going to be in his life. Whether he wants to or not."

Steph cast a glance behind her, but Damian had only gone further away from them, to check out the winter coats.

"You're gonna buy it?" she asked Jason.

He nodded. "I need you two to keep him occupied. We'll meet up at the Christmas tree in--" he hesitated for a second, "let's say ten-ish minutes."

He didn't give them a chance to protest or agree before slipping past them and right out of the store and quickly made his way to the nearest electronics store. It was relatively quiet in the small store, not crowded, which put Jason a little more at ease. He made a beeline for the check-out desk immediately.

"Good morning, how may I help you?" the clerk asked, smiling brightly.

Her nametag read _Tamina._

Jason drummed his fingers on the counter. "Hi, I'd like to buy a phone. Uh-- a Samsung."

The clerk brushed her curly hair behind her ear. "Any specific model?" she asked, already pulling out a set of keys to unlock the glass case.

Jason floundered, completely out of his depth. 

"Not really," he settled on saying. 

Tamina nodded. "Do any of these look good?" She gestured at the display.

Jason looked at the selection of phones, feeling as if he were trying to read ancient Sumerian. Some were huge, much bigger than Jason's own hand. His eyes skipped over them to the smaller phones.

He nodded at a phone that looked to be roughly the size of Damian's hand. "That one looks good," he said.

Tamina reached in and pulled it out and set it on the counter in front of Jason. She turned around and reached for a charger and a box while Jason let his eyes skim over the phone cases for one Damian might like. His eyes landed on a simple emerald green case that reminded Jason of Damian's eyes-- eyes that were just a touch too dark to remind Jason of Talia's, and not as quite luminescent as the green of a Lazarus Pit. 

He paid as quickly as he could for the phone, the charger and the phone case before hurrying out of the store. He sent a quick text to Steph and Cass to tell him he was on his way just in case. 

He spotted the three before even reaching them. It wasn't hard when Damian was caught in a heated discussion with Steph, four new plastic bags added to the collection, not all of them from H&M. Hopefully they'd found Damian winter clothes because Jason was starting to feel uncomfortable around all these people, his skin crawling slightly.

"What's up losers?" he asked, neatly slotting himself between Steph and Damian. Just because he excelled at starting arguments did not mean he didn't know how to dissolve them.

"Where were you?" Damian asked, lip curling.

Jason cocked a questioning eyebrow. "Got you something."

That caught Damian off-guard. Jason handed him the box with the brand new phone. "I got you a phone," he said. "And a phone case." He set the green case on top of the box.

Damian was holding the box gingerly, as if it were about to explode.

"A phone?" he asked.

Jason shoved his hands in his jacket pocket. "I mean, yeah. Obviously. You'll need one so we can keep track of you. You know. So you can actually text us if something happens. And to keep in touch if Talia does come back."

He doubted that Bruce would let the kid disappear out of his life, but that discussion was one Jason wasn't keen on having. He had other things to worry about. Damian pulled the phone out of the box with shaking hands, his head tilted at such an angle that Jason didn't have a clear view of his eyes. He looked up sharply, almost startling a curse from Jason. He almost did swear when he saw the uncertainty in his eyes. Jason hoped the kid wouldn't start started crying at the mall, because he sure as fuck would have no fucking idea what to do.

He crossed his arms and looked away, becoming a little too uncomfortable with the look Damian was giving him. "A thank you would be nice," he grumbled.

"It is a pretty color," Cass said, pointing at the case. "Matches your eyes."

This snapped Damian out of whatever stupor he'd been in. He glared up at Todd. 

"You did this on purpose," he accused.

This earned the kid an eyeroll. "Obviously, ankle biter."

Damian's scowl deepened. If he kept scowling, he'd form a permanent wrinkle between his eyes by sixteen at this point.

"I have killed men twice your size. Refrain from the offensive nicknames, Todd," the kid warned.

Jason had no doubt Damian knew as many ways to kill him without a weapon as he did with one, but he just couldn't help himself.

“You’re the size of a chicken nugget. Excuse me if I’m not quaking in fear.”

"Are we done here?" Steph asked. "Can we go home now?"

Cass turned to Damian. _"Found everything okay?"_ she asked.

"We were supposed to get me only a winter coat," he said. _"Yes_ , I found everything."

Steph hooked an arm over his shoulders and steered him towards the exit. "Come on, don't be like that. We got you pretty cool shirts."

Damian ducked out of her grasp. "What is wrong with this family?" he snapped. "Can none of you go more than five minutes without having the need to touch me?"

Jason replied by ruffling the kid's hair, just to annoy him further as they walked out of the mall and into the gray afternoon. The freezing air did little to dampen Jason's relief at finally leaving the loud crowds behind them and back to the parked car. The short walk to the car didn't stop Jason from losing feeling in the tip of his fingers and nose. 

His phone buzzed as he buckled his seatbelt. He settled himself in his seat before pulling it out to see who had texted him. Unsurprisingly, it was Roy. He unlocked his phone to read the text but paused when he read it.

He stared at the text for a full minute to try and process what he was reading.

_IF WE WANT THE REWARDS OF BEING LOVED WE MUST SUBMIT TO THE MORTIFYING ORDEAL OF BEING KNOWN!!!!!_

_roy what the fuck_

_Jason! You're alive! :D_

Jason blinked. He briefly wondered if he should call an ambulance in case Roy was having a stroke.

_i went to the mall??? yes im alive????_

_You weren't there when Kori and I came by the Manor._

_so???? that doesn't equate me being fucking dead, ROY_

_I mean--_

_low blow, roy_ 😐

"Can I go on patrol tonight?" Damian asked.

Jason glanced up to see the kid staring at him intently.

 _"I'm_ fine with it," he said. "Is it really _me_ you have to ask, though?"

Damian raised an eyebrow. "You are an adult. I could patrol alongside you."

Jason laughed. "I don't usually patrol with Batman and his posse, kid. That was a one time thing."

"Because of the League," Damian said.

Jason acquiesced. "Because of the League."

The League lurked around the corner of almost every conversation, looming over their heads like a cloud that threatened a heavy rainfall. Bruce was more paranoid than usual, and insisted they patrolled together, even the Signal who usually didn't patrol during the night. Jason had let it slide once, but it wouldn't happen again. Crime Alley was his turf, his territory. The Bats got the rest of Gotham. Jason didn't fear the League. 

Granted, Jason didn't fear things normal people should fear. He was special, like that.

"You already spent time with the League," Damian argued. "My best bet to stay safe would be to patrol with people who _know_ the League."

"Me and Cass, then."

He glanced at Steph and Cass. They were silent, but were clearly listening. Jason hadn't noticed that Steph had turned the music off. Jason sighed.

"I guess I can take you with me," he conceded a little reluctantly. "I'll take you to my apartment 'round five? That good for you? It gives us enough time to set up your phone and shit."

"Will Bruce agree?" Steph asked.

Jason met her eyes in the rearview mirror. "I won't tell him if you won't."

Steph shrugged, smiling. "I didn't hear a thing. Did you hear anything, Cass?"

Cass grinned back. "Nothing."

"You officially owe me, Jason Peter Todd," Steph added. 

"Yeah, yeah. The kid's pretty convincing."

The corner of Damian's lips was tilted, the shadow of a smug smile. Sneaky bastard.

"We'll have so much fun," Jason said loudly, leaning back in his seat. "I'll introduce you to the best of the best in Gotham. Maybe we'll even see Catwoman."

Bruce's Not Girlfriend who never missed an opportunity to steal Bruce's watch. Selina was the best, and Jason was sure Damian would warm up to her when he met her three cats. The kid had a knack for befriending animals. It was downright _weird_. He was gonna fit right in.

"You have to promise not to let loose every animal at the zoo with Sel, though," Steph warned. "I'm being _serious,_ Damian. Bruce will kill you, and then us for being complicit in letting you patrol. If Bruce finds out, I'm throwing you all under the bus, got it?"

"Love the loyalty and love," Jason said, patting her shoulder.

"Oh, don't start."

Jason grinned and leaned towards Damian. "You're going to love it here," he said, only half sarcastic.

The kid gave him a strange look, part disbelief. He didn't believe him. That was okay. Jason was going to give him every reason to stay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> they all just need a million hugs. but don't actually hug any of them. that is a terrible idea


End file.
